tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41053405777462871212018-02-16T13:40:38.920-05:00ShoreIndieA community for indie authors.Sione Aeschlimannoreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-54606186877795659522018-01-19T13:57:00.000-05:002018-01-27T01:14:17.300-05:00Writescast E29: Self-publishing Part One<b>So you have a book, and you've decided to self-publish. Now what?</b><br /><br />This question will be the focus of the ShoreIndie community for all of 2018. This year we're excited to bring you content and Twitter chats designed to help you prepare to self-publish your book. And who knows? Maybe there will be a giveaway or two. ;*)<br /><br />So what <i>do</i> you do once you've decided to self-publish? One place to start is this Writescast podcast episode, hot off the presses today, featuring ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman.<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"Sione Aeschliman walks us through the early steps of the self-publishing journey. In this episode, we talk what you need to have done before looking to publish, the platforms through which one can self-publish, cover design and cover art resources, and best case practices for each of these critical phases."</blockquote><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gt5IyfR4yVo/WmI70Nzk0QI/AAAAAAAABUg/mpxIfsGEgiQEAPuHI36plM4yVpNkhvTZgCLcBGAs/s1600/029%2BPart%2BOne%2BPromo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gt5IyfR4yVo/WmI70Nzk0QI/AAAAAAAABUg/mpxIfsGEgiQEAPuHI36plM4yVpNkhvTZgCLcBGAs/s400/029%2BPart%2BOne%2BPromo.png" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>&nbsp;<a href="https://rrcampbellwrites.com/podcast/writescast029/" target="_blank">Self-Publishing Part One: a How-To Featuring Sione Aeschliman</a></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://rrcampbellwrites.com/podcasts/" target="_blank">Writescast</a> is a writing and publishing podcast created by author and freelance editor R.R. Campbell, whose debut novel, a romantic suspense titled <a href="https://rrcampbellwrites.com/books/" target="_blank"><i>Accounting for it All</i></a>, is slated for release in November 2018 from Nine Star Press.<br /><br />Jan. 26, 2018 UPDATE: <b><a href="https://rrcampbellwrites.com/podcast/writescast030/" target="_blank">Part Two</a></b> is now available! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>And now we'd love to hear from YOU: What questions do you have about self-publishing? What topics would you like the ShoreIndie community to address this year to help you on your journey? Leave a comment below or email us at shoreindiecontest(at)gmail(dot)com</b></div>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-75317780866030039712017-12-11T23:58:00.000-05:002017-12-11T23:59:51.365-05:00Published!: WHAT WE KNOW NOW by Mo ParisianWe are positively thrilled to welcome another ShoreIndie Round 1 winner's book into the world! <i>What We Know Now</i> by Mo Parisian went live on Amazon on November 17th, 2017, and Mo was kind enough to do a brief interview with us about her book and her experience with the ShoreIndie Contest. Read on to learn why Mo decided to self-publish <i>What We Know Now</i>, what it took to get it publish-ready, and Mo's advice to emerging indies.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LO52HWw4gUo/Wi9fovKonvI/AAAAAAAABTY/EG6dlcgpGtART161UXmOtlNVDsihgWUzACLcBGAs/s1600/WhatWeKnowNow%2BCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LO52HWw4gUo/Wi9fovKonvI/AAAAAAAABTY/EG6dlcgpGtART161UXmOtlNVDsihgWUzACLcBGAs/s1600/WhatWeKnowNow%2BCover.jpg" /></a></div><b>SI: Congratulations on the publication of your novel, <i>What We Know Now</i>! What inspired this book?</b><br /><br /><b>MJP:</b> Thank you! I am so excited to finally be able to share this book with everyone. The idea for <i>What We Know Now </i>started in Frankfort, a small beach town in northern Michigan. We were vacationing over Labor Day weekend and checking out some of the lighthouses. There is a row of beautiful beach homes located on the beach in Frankfort, and one in particular caught my eye. I knew immediately this was the setting for my book, and it was just a matter of figuring out who lived in that house and what the conflict would be! Obviously, it isn’t that easy, but the setting never changed for me. I can still see it so clearly.<br /><br /><b>SI: Tell us a little about why you decided to self-publish this novel.</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><b>MJP:</b> I have always found the writing part of a project to be easier than getting published part. I went the route of trying to acquire an agent with no success and felt pretty defeated by that part of it. I didn’t know enough about self-publishing to make that leap either, so I did absolutely nothing for about a year. When I read about ShoreIndie and started to get involved, I realized that self-publishing (or indie) is a huge outlet, and while I had/still have a lot to learn, I never would’ve done any of this without that contest.<b>&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><b>SI: What had your writing and revision process entailed at the time you entered the 2017 ShoreIndie Contest? How many drafts had you written before you entered, and from whom had you received feedback?</b><br /><br /><b>MJP:</b> I had probably written two drafts - the main part of the story has never changed - but I spent a great deal of time cleaning things up or adjusting scenes I had found cringe-worthy. I had sent [the book] to about five different friends (avid readers, but no writers) and received very positive feedback from them. More than anything, it gave me confidence in my story.<br /><br /><b>SI: What were the highlights of working with your ShoreIndie editor, Katie McCoach? (For example: What did you find most valuable about the process?; what did you learn about storytelling and/or your writing process?; do you feel your book is better as a result?; etc.)</b><br /><br /><b>MJP:</b> Oh wow, how much time do we have? I have said that I used to write before I met Katie, but now I’m a writer. She taught me to see the story and ask different questions. Questions to help the reader know more without telling them everything. She taught me what was important in the story and what could be cut. I learned to leave myself out of the story and to make sure to see the story from the main character's perspective. I realized during the whole process that I do love to edit. I never knew that before. Is it perfect? Probably not, but it’s so much better than before. The most important thing I learned from her is that I am so eager to learn no matter how challenging it feels at the time. I am so excited about writing now, and I hadn’t felt that in years. THANK YOU, KATIE!!!<br /><br /><b>​SI: Now that you've got your first book out there, what advice would you give authors who are at the beginning of their self-publishing journey?</b><br /><br /><b>MJP:</b> First and foremost, get on Twitter (or whatever social media interests you) and meet people. Be a part of a discussion. Don’t be afraid to ask questions or put yourself out there. Before ShoreIndie, I don’t think I ever responded to a tweet. It forced me so far out of my comfort zone and I learned so much from each editor and writers who were in the chats. It was the boost I needed to move forward in the contest. I felt more comfortable submitting my work, knowing I had asked so many questions. Ask and be open to learning new things. If you had told me at the beginning of the year that I would have a book published, I would’ve thought you were crazy. It was a lot of hard work, but I wouldn’t change anything.<br /><br /><b>SI: What can we look forward to seeing from you next?</b><br /><br /><b>MJP:</b> ​Currently working on another ms in the <i>WWKN</i> family. Same characters, different MC. More challenging story topic for me, but loving how it’s evolving. My goal is for an early summer release. <br /><br /><b>About <i>What We Know Now</i></b><br />What would you do if your husband had a double life you knew nothing about?<br /><br />According to her five-year plan, Grace Foster’s life is right on schedule. After marrying her college sweetheart, she has fought to earn her dream job of evening news producer at WKND. When a story breaks, and her husband is suddenly arrested, she flees for the last place she thought she’d ever find solace: Her mother’s home. The picturesque cottage on the shore of Lake Michigan appears to be the perfect hideout, or is it the battleground she left ten years ago?<br /><br />Being the daughter of Julia Dunham, best-selling self-help author, has always made Grace cynical. But watching her mother go through her own personal crisis, Grace experiences compassion she’s never felt before. With support from her family and friends, Grace begins to follow the steps in her mom’s latest best-seller to rebuild her own life. Will what she learns give her the courage to let go of the past and move forward, or will Julia push Grace out of her life for good?<br /><br />Check out <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076P2G339" target="_blank"><i>What We Know Now</i> on Amazon</a>! <br /><br /><b>About the author</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwlJBiAsiNw/Wi9fbxc6KuI/AAAAAAAABTU/VX6CIZODjowQFcyjLSR2KLBM6kladFM3ACLcBGAs/s1600/MoParisian%2BAuthorPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="240" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jwlJBiAsiNw/Wi9fbxc6KuI/AAAAAAAABTU/VX6CIZODjowQFcyjLSR2KLBM6kladFM3ACLcBGAs/s200/MoParisian%2BAuthorPhoto.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>Mo Parisian lives in Lansing, Michigan with her husband and two sons. She works full time as a nanny for triplets and is also the creator of <a href="http://thenovelway.com/">thenovelway.com</a>. If she’s not writing, you can find her reading or baking. <i>What We Know Now</i> is Mo’s first novel.Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-81530776857547758762017-10-12T00:00:00.000-04:002017-10-12T00:00:02.882-04:00Published!: MALFUNCTION by J.E. PurazziToday on the ShoreIndie blog we're celebrating the publication of one of the books that was a 2017 Round 1 Winner, <i>Malfunction</i> (The Malfunction Trilogy, Book 1) by J.E. Purazzi, which went live on Amazon on Sunday, October 8th. J.E. was kind enough to take time out of her busy schedule to do a brief interview with us about her book and her experience with the ShoreIndie Contest. Read on to learn about the inspirations for <i>Malfunction</i>, what it took to get it publish-ready, J.E.'s advice to emerging indies, and more.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-59i_kRfPX1g/Wd5l2zPvx2I/AAAAAAAABSE/xYKQQECXAU8No6EZ8OPfaFMFMXABMeokwCLcBGAs/s1600/911-Purrazzi-Malfunction-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-59i_kRfPX1g/Wd5l2zPvx2I/AAAAAAAABSE/xYKQQECXAU8No6EZ8OPfaFMFMXABMeokwCLcBGAs/s320/911-Purrazzi-Malfunction-small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><b>ShoreIndie (SI): Congratulations on the publication of your novel <i>Malfunction</i>! Will you tell us a little about the inspiration for the trilogy? </b><br /><br /><b>J.E. Purazzi (JEP):</b> Sure! The original idea was just going to be a short story for Wattpad, something to try to gain an audience for my fantasy project before I really knew good marketing practices. My first glimmer of the idea was focused on the virtual reality and was about a kid (a blend of Menrva and Cowl back then) in a subterranean city, escaping through Virtual Reality only to find out that the game they were playing was real. As I worked on the concept, hammering out the plot holes and applying existing science, I ended up sticking with the one image of the climax in the second book and wrote the first draft of <i>Malfunction</i> in about a month.<br /><br />One of the ideas that carried through all the drafts was that of human beings being reduced to objects in order to provide safety and pleasure to others, a concept that I think is really relevant to the issues of modern-day slavery and human trafficking.<br /><a name='more'></a><br />I took a lot of hints from Gothic Horror and focused on the darkness in our own nature as the source of fear while still providing a small glimmer of hope. Some of those books I turned on their heads: like taking the idea of Frankenstein's monster and imagining what he would have been like if he’d been loved. Some things are pretty much intact, like with the duality of human nature as in Jekyll and Hyde, or the concept of the supposed “monster” who is seen to be much more once he’s given the chance, like in <i>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</i>.<br /><br />I also drew a lot from scripture (the friendship between David and Jonathan and the Garden of Gethsemane for instance) and from history (with multiple hints and references to the Protestant Reformation and Sun Tzu).<br /><br />I explore a lot of my favorite themes, like nature vs. nurture, friendship and family, man or monster, comparison and contrast, the meaning of true strength, and heroism.<br /><br />It is always important for me to fit those things into my stories, however, and not to fit my stories around the inspiration. As a result, most of the inspiration is so diluted I doubt many people could point it out anymore.<br /><br /><b>SI: What had your writing and revision process entailed at the time you entered the 2017 ShoreIndie Contest? How many drafts had you written before you entered, and from whom had you received feedback? </b><br /><br /><b>JEP:</b> I was still mostly learning my writing process when I entered the Shore Indie contest. I had used the <a href="http://www.storygrid.com/" target="_blank">Story Grid method</a> as much as I was able with my novella, but was still having trouble understanding how to apply it to a larger project. <i>Malfunction</i> had some major trouble areas that I had basically given up on. I had listened to a lot of podcasts that had stressed quality and speed but emphasized speed over everything else. Many suggested you couldn’t make it as an indie without putting out a book every three months which, let me tell you, is a stressful concept!<br /><br />I had done a lot of rounds with betas at different stages and had used their feedback as much as possible, but I knew I needed something a bit more individualized if I was going to take everything I had studied and applied it appropriately.<br /><br />My feedback started with Wattpad readers...good for gut-instinct, but take it with a couple cups of salt. My critique partners were helpful, and had great instincts, but were all newbies themselves. By the time I applied to ShoreIndie I was probably on my fifth draft with that hit-or-miss method. Finding good, available beta readers was HARD. I have a system mostly in place now, but each project looks a bit different.<br /><br />Even after working through just one book with Sione, thanks to ShoreIndie, I feel like I can apply all the heaps of information I’ve collected and start working through my books professionally and with a lot of pride in my work.<br /><br /><b>SI: What were the highlights of working with your ShoreIndie editor, Sione Aeschliman? </b><br /><br /><b>JEP:</b> I really appreciated how well Sione was able to identify the structure in my novel and clearly communicate it to me. She was able to identify the main issues with my two biggest problem areas immediately and explain to me just how to fix them.<br /><br />One of the best parts about her work was how well she communicated with me. She was quick to answer my questions, always made sure to get my ideas on what I felt needed the most focus, and made sure that keeping my voice and vision was foremost.<br /><br />She geeked out over my characters just like I did, and I was impressed at the level of detail she went into. Not just in the scenes (remembering every little thing) but also with the characters. Often, when she suggested a change she kept in line with my characters, their motivations, personalities and the heavy character-focus of my style.<br /><br />I don’t think I could even begin to communicate how much I have learned and continue to learn as I apply the results of the intense ShoreIndie contest to my writing and reading. I don’t doubt that <i>Malfunction</i> is a better book, and I know the next two in the trilogy will be better based on what I’ve learned as well. ​<br /><br /><b>SI: Now that you've got two books out there, what advice would you give authors who are toward the beginning of their self-publishing journey?&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><b>JEP:</b> I always suggest that people do their research. There are a ton of amazing resources out there: podcasts, YouTube, books, articles, and a lot of very willing writers.<br /><br />The best way to learn is to have a fast feedback loop. It’s hard to find trustworthy readers and writers who can give you the best advice, but if you put in your work it’s always worth it. Whether it’s a trustworthy editor (which, believe me, good idea!) or a writer whose work you love, getting another set of eyes is great.<br /><br />Of course, doing one without the other is a bad idea. Too much research and no feedback, and you will get stiff and formulaic (and maybe a bit arrogant; I’ve gone there). Too much feedback without research and you run the risk of losing your voice and getting some really bad advice.<br /><br />Finally...and we all say it…read and write a LOT.<br /><br /><b>SI: What can we look forward to seeing from you next?&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><b>JEP:</b> ​ I have quite a few works in the pipeline here. For now, I’m focusing on The Malfunction Trilogy, with the second and third books going into some pretty intense edits. I hope to have those out in six months and a year, respectively.<br /><br />I am also continuing with more stories in that universe, so there will be a lot of short stories, novellas with possibilities for a follow-up trilogy, and a prequel series if there seems to be interest. I am a couple thousand words into a prequel novella for a character named Starke that has been requested by a few people now.<br /><br />I’ll be working on a paranormal novelette serial for NaNoWriMo, with the intention of releasing it next year. The series is called The Raventree Society (for now) and is sort of <i>Supernatural</i> meets blended family drama.<br /><br />I’m really looking forward to picking up work on my epic fantasy again and turning that into an expanded universe like <i>Malfunction</i>, with many stories to tell. I’ll probably be publishing that in 2019.<br /><br />I’m also in the early planning stages of an urban fantasy/noir based on the prohibition era with necromancers. I am considering a traditional or small press publisher for it, with an aim of going hybrid.<br /><br />Of course, like any author, I have a million ideas; it’s just about what I can get done and what my readers want next.<br /><br /><b>Thank you so much for your time, J.E.! We're thrilled to help you welcome your book into the world and wish you much success with it.</b><br /><br /><b>About <i>Malfunction</i></b> <br />When Menrva, a geneticist in the subterranean city of survivors known as Bunker, responds to a call for help from Cowl, her former best friend, and Bas, a renegade cyborg, she makes a vital mistake and places all three of them in danger. As they struggle to escape City guards, cyborg soldiers, desperate scavengers, and ravenous aliens, they find in each other something they never expected: family.<br /><br />During a battle, an attacking cyborg manages to overcome her programming just long enough to deliver a cryptic message. The trio is forced to decide if they will risk death - or worse, capture - to seek out the truth about the City, or if they will fight only for themselves.<br /><br />This fast-paced, gritty first book of The Malfunction Trilogy introduces a future caught between destruction and oppression, where Menrva and her friends must decide if the ends justify the means.<br /><br />Buy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0762SK93V" target="_blank"><i>Malfunction</i> on Amazon.com</a> <br /><br /><b>About the author </b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XVfU3mTApd4/Wd5mqOmvpmI/AAAAAAAABSI/4sqwUKi8mKoYbxiaNPuqRNKWIUHjZDwSACLcBGAs/s1600/author%2Bphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XVfU3mTApd4/Wd5mqOmvpmI/AAAAAAAABSI/4sqwUKi8mKoYbxiaNPuqRNKWIUHjZDwSACLcBGAs/s1600/author%2Bphoto.jpg" /></a></div>J.E. Purazzi grew up on a steady diet of adventure, both real and imagined. It wasn't enough. So what was a girl to do? The answer: live in a fantasy world. Whether in art or writing, she's always trying to live multiple lives. You can find her lost in a maze of thoughts, occasionally emerging for her full-time job as a nanny and the common distractions of being a housewife, church member, and mama's girl. She lives in sunny Florida with her husband, cats, and fish, where she never visits the beach and avoids going out of doors in summer.<br /><br />Visit <a href="http://www.jillanepurrazzi.com/" target="_blank">J.E. Purazzi's website</a> Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-61161490780956782982017-10-11T15:35:00.000-04:002017-10-11T15:35:48.348-04:002017 ShoreIndie Contest WinnersA HUGE CONGRATULATIONS to our 2017 Grand Prize Winner, Jacy Sutton, and our Runner Up, Sophia Beaumont! We're incredibly proud of these authors and can't wait to help them celebrate when they self-publish their books. Read on to see what our judges had to say about the winning entries.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>2017 GRAND PRIZE WINNER</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/08/editing-round-showcase-jacy-sutton.html">JUST ONE YOU</a> by Jacy Sutton (<a href="https://twitter.com/authorjacy" target="_blank">@authorjacy</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Edited by Rebecca Heyman (<a href="https://twitter.com/RFaithEditorial" target="_blank">@RFaithEditorial</a>)</div><br />"This entry drew me in from the very beginning. The language was beautiful and lush, and from the very first lines, the characters felt like real people: complex, flawed, &amp; fascinating. Artful storytelling!” - <a href="http://embercasey.com/" target="_blank">Ember Casey</a><br /><br />"This novel grabbed hold of me from page one. The writing is beautiful, the characters rich and intriguing, &amp; the slow boil narrative utterly riveting. It did the thing I love best in a book, which was to leave me pondering it even when I had to set it down, and eager to get back to it as quickly as possible. The ending presented a satisfying blend of 'Ah ha!' 'Oh my god!' and 'Of course!' all at once This book is a genuine and thought-provoking pleasure." - <a href="http://bill-cameron.com/" target="_blank">Bill Cameron</a> <br /><br />"A depth of character combines with an almost lyrical nature to the language used to create an equally satisfying and engaging story primed with romance, tension, and growth.” - <a href="http://elisekova.com/" target="_blank">Elise Kova</a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>2017 RUNNER UP</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/08/editing-round-showcase-sophia-beaumont.html">ALL FOR ONE</a> by Sophia Beaumont (<a href="https://twitter.com/KnotMagick" target="_blank">@KnotMagic</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;">Edited by Jeni Chappelle (<a href="https://twitter.com/jenichappelle" target="_blank">@jenichappelle</a>)</div><br />"I loved this entry! The premise was so fun and original, the worldbuilding was vivid and colorful, and I loved how the book kicked off the action from the very first chapter! An enjoyable adventure!" - <a href="http://embercasey.com/" target="_blank">Ember Casey</a><br /><br />"As I read this novel, I kept thinking that the author must have really enjoyed writing it because every page is infused with an infectious joy. The concept is fun to begin with, and the author’s handling of it was simply delightful. It made me wish I lived on the timeline where Marie Antoinette formed a monarchy in Quebec though I wouldn’t want to find myself at the tip of Louise’s blade." - <a href="http://bill-cameron.com/" target="_blank">Bill Cameron</a> <br /><br />"The story hooks you from the first line and doesn't let go, pulling you along with action and a rich sense of world-building that leaves you excited for more.” - <a href="http://elisekova.com/" target="_blank">Elise Kova</a>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-61666111080878940182017-08-04T13:01:00.000-04:002017-08-04T13:01:24.573-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Mo Parisian<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: WHAT WE KNOW NOW (formerly <i>A Mother's Guide to Living</i>)<br />Category/genre: Adult Women's Fiction<br />Author: Mo Parisian<br />Editor: Katie McCoach<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-mo-parisian.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />According to her five-year plan, Grace Foster’s life is right on schedule. After marrying her college sweetheart, she has fought to earn her dream job of evening news producer at WKND. When a story breaks, and her husband is suddenly arrested, she flees for the last place she thought she’d ever find solace: Her mother’s home. The picturesque cottage on the shore of Lake Michigan appears to be the perfect hideout, or is it the battleground she left ten years ago?<br /><br />Being the daughter of Julia Dunham, best-selling self-help author, has always made Grace cynical. But watching her mother go through her own personal crisis, Grace experiences compassion she’s never felt before. With support from her family and friends, Grace begins to follow the steps in her mom’s latest best-seller to rebuild her own life. Will what she learn give her the courage to let go of the past and move forward, or will Julia push Grace out of her life for good? <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter One</div><br />There is a moment every morning I run, when I know exactly how my day is going to unfold. Today, when that moment hits, I have the distinct feeling I should go back to bed. It’s not that I’m psychic, but the signs have been unmistakeable. <br /><br />One: My mom called, woke me from a dead sleep, to tell me that she’s worried about me. “I have a funny feeling,” were the exact words she used. My mom is a lot of things, including a best-selling self-help author, but visionary to my life certainly isn’t on the list. <br /><br />Two: My husband, Andrew, left before I woke up and didn’t make any coffee. He always made coffee. If there was a reason he needed to be at school so early, he failed to tell me. He only left sticky note on the kitchen table. I had to leave early. XO, Andrew.<br /><br />Three: My boss texted for a nine o’clock meeting this morning. Given I work the evening news shift at WKND, this was a giant monkey wrench in my day.<br /><br />A smarter person would’ve made a pot of coffee and relaxed with the news, but training for a marathon exceeds the limit of what is considered normal. Andrew’s words, not mine. He didn't understand my need for five-year plans or training schedules. Andrew's motto was always let’s roll with it.<br /><br />Either way, I want to go back to bed.<br /><br />Of all my issues, it’s my mom that is weighing me down. I don’t have that she’s-my-mom-and-my-best-friend kind of relationship with her. It’s more like we tolerate each other and go our separate ways. For her to call me as early as she did, it felt ominous. <br /><br />By my third mile, I realized I couldn't outrun her words and looped back home. The last thing I needed this morning was to worry about being late for a meeting. <br /><br />I loved my job as the evening news producer for an NBC affiliate, WKND. It was fast-paced and demanding, but left me feeling exhilarated every night. Even on the slow news evening.<br /><br />As I walked into work, my manager, Tim, was standing at the receptionist’s desk, chatting with Sherry, our office manager. Their conversation came to a halt when they spotted me, and Sherry’s eyes darted back to her computer.<br /><br />Tim looked at is watch. “Thanks for making it in so early Grace,” he said. “Let’s head back to my office… an issue has come up we have to deal with.”<br /><br />He glanced at Sherry before turning, and she tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.<br /><br />I’m getting fired.<br /><br />My mind raced to the story about the political scandal involving two senators last week. I held off on it for a day to verify sources, but every other news station went with it. Our ratings tanked, and Tim ripped me a new one.<br /><br />But fired?<br /><br />Tim was not only my boss, but my friend. He was the one person at the station who had my back from day one, even when I made countless mistakes in the beginning. He taught me what anchors wanted in copy, what producers wanted in a piece, and how to put it all together. <br /><br />My heart started racing. Tim’s face was pasty and he was sweating through his shirt. An empty hollowness settled into my gut.<br /><br />“Have a seat,” he said, walking behind his desk. “Look, something has come up, and there is just no easy way to say this.”<br /><br />“I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted him. “But can I please get a second chance?”<br /><br />His brow furrowed. “Second chance? What are you talking about?”<br /><br />“I know last week’s rating drop was all my fault, but please don’t fire me. Give me another chance." <br /><br />He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Gracie, I'm not going to fire you. But something has come up, and I wanted to give you a head's up on a story we're running tonight."<br /><br />I released a breath I had been holding and leaned back in my chair. <br /><br />"Okay, shoot. I'm in the mood for something big,” I said.<br /><br />He shifted in his seat and stared at his desk calendar. "Well, we have several sources for a story at Patterson High School."<br /><br />“What is it?" My nerves turned into curiosity. Andrew taught at Patterson, and not only was this going to be a good story, but I was getting a first dibs on the gossip. He loved that.<br /><br />"Ah, Jesus, Gracie," he sighed. "There’s, uh, several young girls accusing one of the teachers of sexual misconduct."<br /><br />"I knew it! It's Peter Markson isn't it?" My heart was racing again, but in a good way. I needed to get over there and look into this. <br /><br />"No, Gracie.” He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. “Actually, Andrew has been named as the offender." For the first time since I walk in the building this morning, his eyes locked on mine. <br /><br />"Wait." I didn’t understand. "Andrew is accusing girls?"<br /><br />He closed his eyes and sighed. "Grace, the girls are accusing him. One girl claimed they've had an affair for a year and she's pregnant. That's how this story broke."<br /><br />My stomach lurched. "Please tell me this is a joke," I whispered. <br /><br />He walked around his desk and sat next to me, "I wish it were, but it's going to be the lead story on every news tonight, and will most likely be picked up nationally by Friday. From what I've heard, this is going to be another Letourneau. I can't believe I have to be the one to tell you this." <br /><br />The room began to spin. A chill ran through me. Everyone I knew would hear this story by tonight.<br /><br />"What the fuck," I said, bewildered. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"<br /><br />"Why don't you take a day, a week even, to figure out what is going on," he said. "This is still just information from the students. No one has heard Andrew's side of the story, yet." <br /><br />"Have you tried to contact him at all?"<br /><br />"I found out yesterday afternoon, and have left three voicemails and sent two texts," he said standing. "He's not responding." <br /><br />I thought about last night. I tried to remember if he was different, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I came home. He was watching TV, the Late Show, his hand propped up behind his head as usual. I asked how his day was, he said uneventful, and quickly rolled over when I got into bed. I just figured he'd had a long day and needed some sleep.<br /><br />Was this why he left so early?<br /><br />"What the hell," I shouted this time. I stood and started to pace. "I'll get to the bottom of this,” I said, pulling out my phone. <br /><br />I dialed his number and listened. The unanswered rings echoed through my head. I stared at my phone, the picture of Andrew and I in Jamaica stared back at me. I hadn't changed the background in three years. <br /><br />Do I go over to school? Why would these girls say this about him? <br /><br />"What is going to happen to him?" I said, wishing he had answered his damn phone. What was the truth?<br /><br />He shook his head. "From what I know, the police will act quickly, and bring him in for questioning. Most likely, today." He sat behind his desk again, loosening his tie.<br /><br />"If they find sufficient evidence against him, they will charge him with sexual misconduct, and he will have to wait for a bail hearing." <br /><br />I stared out the window, following a cloud coasting by. In the last five minutes, my life had been forever changed, shattered. <br /><br />His phone beeped. "Uh, Gracie, the police just walked him out of school. Handcuffed." Another beep. "Every news station is there covering this." He set his phone down. "What can I do to help you?"<br /><br />I ran my hands through my hair. How the hell does he think he can help me through this? <br /><br />"I gotta get out of here," I said. I wiped my eyes, realizing my hands were covered in runaway mascara. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll keep you posted." I stopped on my way out the door. "Will I have a job when I return?"<br /><br />"This job is yours until you say you're moving on," he said without hesitating. "I hope to see you soon."<br /><br />Walking out, the sunshine blinded me. Not knowing where to go or what to do, I did the only thing I could think of: I called my mom. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-71084342899475045842017-08-04T12:52:00.000-04:002017-08-04T12:52:09.782-04:00Editing Round Showcase - J.E. Purazzi<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: MALFUNCTION<br />Category/genre: Adult Sci-Fi Dystopian Biopunk<br />Author: J.E. Purazzi<br />Editor: Sione Aeschliman<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-je-purazzi.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />When Menrva, a geneticist in the subterranean city of survivors known as Bunker, responds to a call from help from Cowl, her former best friend, and Bas, a renegade cyborg, she makes a vital mistake and places all three of them in danger. As they struggle to escape City guards, cyborg soldiers, desperate scavengers, and ravenous aliens, they find in each other something they never expected: family. <br /><br />During a battle, an attacking cyborg manages to overcome her programming just long enough to deliver a cryptic message. The trio is forced to decide if they will risk death - or worse, capture - to seek out the truth about the City, or if they will fight only for themselves.<br /><br />This fast-paced, gritty first book of the Malfunction Trilogy introduces a future caught between destruction and oppression, where it is unclear whether the ends justify the means. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter One: Comeback</div><br />Menrva Penniweight leaned over the touch screen on her work surface and tried to ignore the diminutive woman that hovered over her shoulder. “We aren’t on speaking terms.” <br /><br />“So who am I supposed to talk to about these samples?” Leslie Abella said. <br /><br />Menrva frowned and turned to Her mother. She wasn’t an impressive looking woman, despite her reputation for getting into positions of power. Standing only a few inches taller than Menrva, her petite frame filled out her ironed lab coat in a perfect hourglass shape. She’d pulled her thick black hair into a tight bun over her honey-toned skin and dark eyes. <br /><br />It was she that Menrva most looked like. The only sign left of her father was her curly hair. <br /><br />“You are welcome to give me any samples you need to, but I don’t want to socialize,” Menrva said, snatching the sample from her mother’s manicured nails.<br /><br />“I thought I taught you to be polite,” Leslie said.<br /><br />“You didn’t teach me anything, Mother.” Menrva twisted the vial in her hand and studied the contents. “Wrecker?” <br /><br />“That is your area of study, isn’t it? Of course, I might be wrong since apparently I’m not allowed to have any real information about my only daughter’s life.” <br /><br />Menrva sighed. “What am I looking for?” <br /><br />“I need a count on the stem cells in the sample and a comparison to an average Wrecker.” When Menrva raised an eyebrow, her mother added, “This isn’t all Wrecker, it’s something...different.” <br /><br />“Different how?” This wasn’t the first time Menrva had gotten a request like this. In fact, the whole lab seemed to less focused on their research on Wreckers lately. They had even pulled a few of the scientist off for other studies, though she hadn’t heard anything about what those projects were. It was strange. Wreckers had always been a priority. <br /><br />Leslie smoothed her hands over her lab coat without answering and turned to walk through the enclosed lab. The workstations were now empty, leaving only blinking machinery and pale blue light filtering from multiple screens. In the center of the room a glass cylinder held the corpse of the alien in question. It was by this display that Leslie paused, picking her cuticles as she scanned the contents through narrowed eyes. It was an intimidating creature, even torn open and floating in fluid. Easily ten feet in height, this one was on the small side. If the models they used in the Sims were accurate, it looked vaguely like a bear or even a gorilla, though a second set of arms made the comparison a weak one. The most jarring feature was probably its face. Though most of its body was covered in short, velvety black hair, the exoskeleton lay exposed in places. As a result, its head looked not unlike like a fanged human skull.<br /><br />“If you can’t help me with the sample, just tell me,” Leslie said. “There are other people who can do your job, you know.”<br /><br />Menrva rolled her eyes, hoping that her attitude was visible. “I’m the only geneticist specializing in Wreckers that we have in the Hub. If you had someone else, you would have given it to them. The fact that you are here means you’ve already exhausted your resources.” It felt good to shove that back in her face. Menrva didn’t like the fact that Leslie was here, even if she was forced to humble herself a bit to ask. But as much as Menrva wanted to leave her hanging, Leslie could always get what she wanted by using the City to apply some pressure. Her work was too important to them. “I’ll add it to the list.” Menrva said. <br /><br />“I need it before the end of the day tomorrow. We have some potential breakthroughs on my formula and I can’t stall my entire operation just for you.” <br /><br />“I’ll add it to my list,” she repeated, placing the vial in a protective case. <br /><br />Leslie took a few steps towards the door, her simple shoes tapping loudly on the tile. She paused for a moment at the threshold and looked back at Menrva. <br /><br />“You know, your father—” <br /><br />Menrva raised her hand, cutting off the words before they came out. “Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. So don’t bother trying to use him to manipulate me.” <br /><br />“You used to love him, you know.” Leslie said, not even bothering to hide the accusation in her tone. <br /><br />She still loved him. Just because she was angry didn’t mean she loved him any less. It also didn’t mean that Leslie loved him any more. <br /><br />After another moment of silence, Leslie took the hint and closed the door, leaving Menrva in the silence of the lab. She stared at the screen in front of her for a moment, trying to focus on the trail of gene markers. It was pointless. She knew herself well enough to know how hard brain work was when she was frustrated, and Leslie was nothing if not frustrating. <br /><br />In another thirty minutes she’d planned head to the gym anyway. She could just leave early and get in some extra time to work off the emotions before bed. Half of her sandwich from lunch was waiting for her in the fridge to give her an extra boost after the workout, but she might have to cut her usual rotation short again. The cafeteria had been short on protein lately. Even beans and nuts were harder and harder to get. <br /><br />She saved her work with the flick of her fingers across the touchscreen—it would be there tomorrow, just as it had been for the past nine years—and turned out the lights.<br /><br />Menrva was often the last person in the lab. Nobody wanted to be the one to switch the lights out and turn their back on the suspended alien body afterwards. It may have been dead for at least a century, but it didn't make it any less terrifying to be alone with in a dark room.<br /><br />Shuddering, she half-sprinted to the door like a child running back to bed after a midnight bathroom trip. It seemed justified. After all, this wasn't an invisible monster under the bed, it was one that had devoured over three-quarters of humankind and wanted more.<br /><br />Double checking the door to make sure it had locked behind her, she turned down the lonely hallway. A glance up at the screens that plastered the ceilings in the wealthy city center showed sunset playing across every pixel overhead, a typical sight. The color was a vivid contrast to the endless white corridors.<br /><br />After ten minutes slipped into her pod and sighed deeply, breathing in the familiar 'home' smell. Menrva closed the door, shrugged out of her lab coat, and dropped it onto the counter. No need to worry about a mess; she would be putting it back on in eight hours or less. <br /><br />"Whoa, I know you've missed me, but no need to jump the gun."<br /><br />Menrva gasped and spun around. It was a voice she knew well, and one she hadn’t expected to hear again. One she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear again.<br /><br />A man of about her age sat on her couch, a sly grin hung on his youthful face. He was short and willowy with pale skin. A pair of mining goggles parted his wispy, baby-blond hair. His standard-issue track suit was torn and crusted with black dirt that stood out stark against their surroundings.<br /><br />"Cowl. Cowl Coven?" Menrva said. "What the hell are you doing in my pod? They will kill us both if they find you here."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter Two: Reacquaintance. </div><br />Cowl stuffed down a rising tide of irritation. Menrva stood at the door, her dark, round eyes narrowed until they nearly blended into her tanned skin. She probably was right to be surprised or even irritated with him showing up, but it wasn’t fair to get offended so quickly. <br /><br />It was strange, how much age could be put on in three years. Her curves were more pronounced now on her short stature, making her formerly sporty build look more feminine. If it weren’t for the shocking pale blue of her formerly dark hair, she would have looked gorgeous.<br /><br />Cowl grinned, trying to ignore the odd feeling that crawled into his stomach. “Nah. You don’t have anything to worry about. They won’t touch you. Made it big as a geneticist, I hear.” <br /><br />Did her eyes just narrow more?<br /><br />“I like the place,” he continued when she didn’t say anything. “What happened to the guy you were with? What’s his name?”<br /><br />“You’ve been missing for three years.” Menrva interrupted, her voice steely. “You'd better be able to sum up why you are here in about five seconds because that's how long you have before I call the guard." Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-34035816122185595912017-08-04T12:43:00.000-04:002017-08-04T12:43:25.781-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Jenny Lynn Lambert<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: THE MEMORY VISIT<br />Category/genre: YA Dystopian<br />Author: Jenny Lynn Lambert<br />Editor: Carly Hayward<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-jenny-lynn-lambert.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br />All a person needs to escape the bombed-out cities and tormenting thirst of NorCoast is a fifteen-minute Memory Visit. Seventeen-year-old Rain has heard plenty of horror stories about Memory Visits—stories about addiction, brain damage, even insanity in clients looking to relive their glory days. But Rain is not looking for an escape; she needs answers. When flashbacks of her twin brother’s drowning start to overtake her life, she relives that horrible day via a laser probe straight to her brain’s hippocampus.<br /><br />What she discovers in the Visit is even worse than she thought; her twin brother, Dal, was murdered, and she is a mark, one of the remarkable people who can alter the past through her memories. Using her newfound ability, Rain attempts to save her brother only to become a target of the assassins who killed him. Soon, she must decide whether rescuing a brother she barely knows in the past is worth risking her life and the lives of people she loves in the present. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">CHAPTER 1&nbsp;</div><br />“Ok, now, Rain, I’m going to count back slowly from 5, and you will gently awaken. Five…Your arms and legs feel lighter. You can feel the cushions under your knees and the pillows under your elbows. Four…. You can feel your breathing, soft and slow. Your hearing is clearer now. My voice seems louder and closer. Three….You hear the humming of the lamp, the wind rustling the curtains, the voices on the street below. You’re aware of where you are, and you want to open your eyes. At one, you will open your eyes. Two…one.”<br /><br />My eyes open when Yamuna’s velvety voice reaches one. A few blinks, and her square jawed visage comes into focus two feet in front of me. Her smile is strained, and behind her glasses, large dark eyes reveal a maternal unease. Obviously, I’ve failed. Again.<br /><br />“Nothing new, huh?” I cringe at my sarcastic tone. This isn’t her fault. The memory of my twin brother’s drowning is just too old. Fourteen years old. <br /><br />Fourteen years seems like a long time, doesn’t it? Time enough to feel sad. To feel angry. To feel guilty. Time enough for a bunch of shrinks to tell me that I can’t blame myself. Maybe even time for me to believe them. <br /><br />The thing is, I haven’t had fourteen years to face the fact that I was there when Dal died. I’ve hardly had four months. Four torturous months of nightmares and flashbacks. I close my eyes and see a streak of refracted light dancing across Dal’s forehead, a thin stream of bubbles escaping from his tiny nostrils. For a brief moment, he floats peacefully underwater, just out of reach of my hands. Then he starts to drift, his wide blue eyes sinking farther away until they lose all color and shape in the cloudy water.<br /><br />And the rest is a blank. Did I reach for him? Did I scream for help? When Dal drowned, my three-year-old brain built a dam to hold back the tragic scene, to keep it from seeping into my consciousness. But the dam wasn’t built to last, and now I’m the one drowning over and over again in a flood of partial memory. <br /><br />“Was there something more about the shadow?” I ask, my voice rising. Sometimes in the memory, I see a shadow on the water, a woman’s silhouette. I never see the actual woman, but her size and shape and the length of her hair make me think of my mother. Dal’s mother. <br /><br />Pushing a strand of wooly black hair away from her ashy cheek, Yamuna shakes her head. She knows I want there to be someone else in the memory, someone else to blame for my brother’s death, even if it is my own mother. I’ve never had to admit this to her. She simply understands and forgives me for it.<br /><br />The truth is our mother couldn’t possibly have stood there watching while her only son drowned. Actually, I’m only assuming this is true. I don’t really know her. She left me on my aunt’s doorstep just a couple of weeks after Dal drowned. Still, I believe that she would have the same instincts any mother, any person, would have when a child is in danger. No, the shadow must be a trick of my mind, conjured by my guilty conscience to share in the blame for Dal’s death. Only a monster would stand by watching a helpless little boy sink to the bottom of a pool. <br /><br />A monster like me. <br /><br />I know, I know, I was only three. What could I have done? Besides, there must have been someone there watching me and Dal. Perhaps there was a group of people, too involved in conversation to see the danger coming. There had to be someone. I mean, who would leave two preschoolers alone in a pool? <br /><br />Still, my imagination won’t let it go. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something hiding in this memory. <br /><br />Something down deep in the waters of the flood, lying on the dark floor of my consciousness alongside Dal’s lifeless body. For fourteen years, my brain has kept this something from reaching the surface. And, now that I’m aware of its existence, I dive, and I dive, but never deep enough. Each time, I return to the surface, empty handed.<br /><br />“Like always, I’ve recorded the session for Dr. Thames,” Yamuna says. “He’s waiting for you down the hall.” <br /><br />She rises to retrieve the memory chip of my recorded session. Yamuna’s flowery peasant blouse hangs loosely on her sagging shoulders. She’s only thirty-five, but her long legs shuffle like an old woman’s under her crinkled skirt. If she’d been born up north, like in Oasis where I lived when Dal died, Yamuna would be running half-marathons or at least playing tennis on the weekends with her friends. But not here, where she wastes away with the rest of NorCoast, like another dying scrub oak on the foothills. <br /><br />I know better than to offer her the small bottle of water I keep in my bag. There’s nothing more insulting than water charity. I should have stuffed the bottle behind a tattered pillow when her back was turned. It’s too late now, though; she’s right in front of me, proffering the chip like a consolation prize. <br /><br />I take the chip, wishing that I could forget about Dr. Thames with his paneled office and constant sniffing. Instead, I long to sit here in Yamuna’s warm muraled room with the faded purple couch cushions that smell of patchouli.<br /><br />As I rise to leave, she takes my hands and pulls me in for an unprecedented hug. Hesitantly, I relax into her embrace, letting her warm arms swaddle me like an infant. When she steps back, there’s a hint of pity in her eyes, which makes me angry, but not at her. <br /><br />“Thanks,” I say. “I know you’ve done all you could. I wish I could remember more.” I cough to cover the catch in my voice. <br /><br />“Rain, it’s not your fault. You were just a little girl when it happened. Plus, Oasis is a totally different world. Here, there aren’t any visual clues that might help you remember. In fact, I’m pretty amazed at what we’ve been able to uncover from such an old memory.”<br /><br />“Yeah,” I say softly.<br /><br />“I think, though, that we’ve reached the limit of what hypnosis can do for you,” she says, and I’m not surprised. The only new detail in the past few sessions has been the woman’s shadow on the water, and even that has been inconsistent. “I wish you had learned more.” She studies my face with her bold black eyes. “I’ve been hesitant to propose this up until now…” She stops, and I wonder if she’s really going to suggest what I think she’s going to suggest. “Have you ever considered…”<br /><br />“…a Memory Visit?” <br /><br />“You’ve heard stories about them, right?” Yamuna says, one eyebrow raised.<br /><br />“Yeah, I’ve heard some pretty scary stuff.” <br /><br />“Well, there are other stories, too,” she says. “Ones that haven’t been all hyped up by the media. I’ve recommended Memory Visits to a few of my clients, and none of them became addicts. None of them suffered mental health problems. No one’s brain exploded.” She smiles. “I just make sure that my clients are the right kind of people with the right kind of need, people like you who aren’t doing it to escape reality.” <br /><br />Yamuna’s got me all wrong. I do like to escape reality, especially in less-than-healthy ways, like sneaking out to underground parties on the East Side. I drop my gaze to the ground in case she can discover the truth behind my pale eyes. “The decision is yours to make,” she says. “I’m only suggesting it because you need to understand this memory before you can heal.” This time she’s right. I see Dal’s swollen face in my dreams, on the commuter train, during my classes. Yamuna’s frown mirrors my own. “Look, Rain, I’m sorry if my suggestion upsets you.”<br /><br />“No, no, I’m not upset. Just…considering my options. I’ll talk about it with Dr. Thames.”<br /><br />“I doubt he’d be as open-minded as I am.” She grins. “He’s a respected psychiatrist with a reputation to uphold. I, on the other hand, am a simple hypnotist.” She winks, her assuredness convincing me in spite of my doubts. “I have the name of a good clinic in town. If you decide you want to give this a try, call them.”<br /><br />She walks to her small oval desk and types on her holographic tablet, or HT as we’ve come to call these magic little devices. They sit nicely in the palm of our hands while giving us a world of information in three-dimensional clarity. “I’ve sent you the name and address.”<br /><br />“Do you really think it will help me remember?”<br /><br />Yamuna smiles again. “Yes, it’s like going back in time.”<br /><br />“Really? Have you done it?” <br /><br />What a stupid question. I might as well have asked her if she’d traveled to the moon. A legitimate Memory Visit would probably cost a half-year’s salary for Yamuna, and she’s too smart to go to a cheap back alley brain probe. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-63657329463542495672017-08-04T12:34:00.000-04:002017-08-04T12:34:03.415-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Nicole L. Ochoa<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: UNDER WESTERN SKIES<br />Category/genre: NA Inspirational Romance<br />Author: Nicole L. Ochoa<br />Editor: Elizabeth Buege<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-nicole-l-ochoa.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />Sarah Hardy can hardly wait for her boyfriend Jeremy to return from his snowmobiling trip and follow through with his interrupted marriage proposal. Five days later, when he goes missing, Sarah’s world and her faith in a loving God collapses.<br /><br />When Sarah can’t find her way out of the depression that has plagued her since Jeremy’s passing, her concerned family ambushes her with an emotional intervention. At the suggestion that she get out of Wyoming and away from the memories haunting her, Sarah hesitantly agrees to spend a few months in California visiting her cousin. Hoping the change of scenery will be just the thing to begin the healing process, Sarah packs her bags and boards the plane.<br /><br />Within hours of her arrival on the coast, Sarah feels her ragged heart respond to a brooding surfer who pulls her from the waves. She fights the urge to run—she came to California in search of peace, not love. Why bother with love when it will just end at the grave? As Sarah’s broken heart begins to mend, she will have to deal with her shattered faith and decide if a second chance at love is worth laying to rest the memory of her blue-eyed cowboy. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1</div><div style="text-align: center;">You Should Be Here</div><br />I’d been waiting for this moment since fifth grade, when I’d done my state report on California. I grew up in Wyoming, and California had always been an enigma. From my understanding, it was a state with miles of beaches, cute surfers, and endless sun, a stark contrast to my home in the high desert of Wyoming with its miles of sagebrush, rugged cowboys, and endless winter. My cousin had moved to a ocean town three years prior to attend school. This was my first time visiting him since his move. It also happened to be the first time I’d been able to see the state I’d written about in elementary school.<br /><br />My being in California wasn’t necessarily my choice, but a strong suggestion from my concerned family. Only a few days earlier, they’d ambushed me with what my sister, Katy, coined an “emotional intervention.”<br /><br />“What do you think?” Brian asked as I stared out my window, mesmerized by the Pacific. The sight of the waves rolling gently onto the sandy shore and the gulls coasting low across the endless blue landscape held me tongue-tied.<br /><br />“It’s beautiful,” I said, unable to pull away.<br /><br />Brian eased his car off the freeway and into a lot near the pier I’d spotted stretching into the sea.<br /><br />“Do you think it would be all right if I went for a swim?” I asked, eager to touch the water.<br /><br />He laughed as he turned off the car. “This isn’t San Diego, Sarah. The water’s freezing.”<br /><br />I’d assumed all of the beaches lining the California coast were warm and wondered if my favorite cousin was up to his old antics. But as I climbed from the car and felt the slight chill in the air, I was disappointed to find he wasn’t.<br /><br />Next to Brian’s car, a sandy-haired guy zipping up a wetsuit stood next to a blue Chevy with a surfboard lying on the dropped tailgate. He glanced in my direction, and our eyes met. I nodded a hello, figuring he’d do the same; instead, he furrowed his brow and narrowed his green eyes. Hoping his menacing stare hadn’t been intended for me, I glanced over my shoulder. Nobody was there except Brian, who was digging a quilt out from under my bag in the back seat.<br /><br />My new beach towel, the one my parents had used as the lead-in to my intervention, peeked out of the top of my suitcase. I let out a sigh. The wretched towel had been disguised as a Christmas gift. We’d just finished unwrapping all of our presents on Christmas Day when my mom appeared with the neatly-wrapped box.<br /><br />I had glanced at my older brother, Mike, for an explanation as to why Mom had tears in her eyes when she handed the box to me. He just shook his head. His wife Malinda, who sat at his feet, wouldn’t meet my eye. I looked to my younger sister, Katy, knowing she would give me a clue as to what was going on. She sat curled up in Dad’s reading chair, her phone discretely tucked into the branches of the tree so she could check her notifications without Mom and Dad seeing. I expected to get an uninterested eye-roll; instead, Katy offered a hesitant smile. Whatever was inside the box wasn’t good.<br /><br />On the couch, my rough-hewn father placed his arm around my mother, who now had tears spilling onto her cheeks. She brushed them away as she waited for me to unwrap her gift. I tugged at the ribbon and felt it knot. When I gave it a second tug and it still didn’t budge, Dad sat up and handed me his pocket knife. With one last glance around the room, I pulled off the paper and lifted the lid.<br /><br />“A beach towel?” I asked, running my finger over the bright fabric. Nobody spoke. <br /><br />Thinking something might be hidden inside, I carefully removed the towel from the box, but nothing tumbled out.<br /><br />“Thank you?” I said, looking around the room for an explanation as to why nobody was smiling.<br /><br />My mom swiped at a tear. “We thought you could use it in California,” she said with a hesitant smile.<br /><br />“California?”<br /><br />Dad leaned forward. “Sarah,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees, “we need to talk.”<br /><br />Katy sat up and finally gave me the eye-roll I’d been expecting. “What Mom and Dad are trying to say,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone, “is it’s time to move on.”<br /><br />It’s time to move on, I repeated to myself as I scanned the sandy shore now in front of me. Had my family also arranged for the disgruntled surfer to be part of my welcoming party?<br /><br />Turning back to the surfer, I saw him scraping a bar of wax across his board, acting like he hadn’t just given me the look of death. Maybe I’d misunderstood his expression. A bit unnerved by what I’d thought I’d seen, I checked my reflection in the car window. Nothing looked out of place, but I pulled my hair back anyway, keeping an eye on him in the glass. His head came up as I secured the rubber band. He looked both confused and angry by my presence.<br /><br />“Sarah,” Brian said, interrupting my thoughts as I watched the surfer grab his board and walk away. “I’m going to pick up something for dinner. Do you want to come, or would you rather head down to the beach to find us a spot to eat?”<br /><br />I glanced over my shoulder at the chowder restaurant he’d pointed out on our drive in; the long line hadn’t gotten any shorter. I reached for the quilt. “I’ll take beach duty.”<br /><br />Brian smiled. “I won’t be long.”<br /><br />“You’d better not be,” I said teasingly. “I’m starving.”<br /><br />He glanced back and grinned. “It’s nice to have you here, Sarah.”<br /><br />I probably should have joined him, but he should have known better than to conspire with my parents. Since Brian was going to college in San Luis Obispo, he’d received his babysitting assignment by default. I smiled as I watched him walk away; if I had to have a chaperone while on this emotional hiatus, I was glad it was him.<br /><br />I shoved the quilt under my arm and made my way down the wooden staircase toward the beach. When I reached the sand, I scanned the area for the surfer but couldn’t find him. In an attempt to shake him from my thoughts, I turned my attention to the waves lapping against the shore. There was something about the way he’d looked at me that bothered me. It was almost as if he’d recognized me. I hadn’t recognized him. Whatever his problem was, I wasn’t going to let some brooding surfer ruin my first time visiting the ocean.<br /><br />A salty breeze kicked up a few loose strands of my hair, kissing my face as it passed and turning my attention back to the water. It felt surreal to be standing on the edge of the continent. I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t in a dream. Nothing about my life over the last ten months felt real. I’d been living in a daze since Jeremy died, walking through life on autopilot. Hopefully, this change of scenery would force me to pay attention to my life again.<br /><br />The last ten months had been hell. I’d done my best to hide from it beneath my studies at the University of Wyoming, but hell wasn’t one to give up easily. As hard as I tried to recover from the crushing loss I’d experienced, I’d found no way to climb out of the pit of depression into which I’d descended. At my parent’s suggestion for me to spend a little time away from Wyoming, I saw the leg-up I desperately needed.<br /><br />Wyoming held too many memories. Up until Jeremy had gone, the memories were good, but not having him around made them unbearable. With each rustle of the wind through the aspens, each sweet smell of alfalfa in a fresh-cut field, and each golden sunset over the plateaus, I saw Jeremy. With constant reminders of him at every turn, I couldn’t escape the sting of losing him, making it impossible to deal with my grief. Maybe this place, this part of the earth where Jeremy had never been, would be where I found healing.<br /><br />Locating a dry spot of sand north of the pier, I spread out the blanket and tugged off my boots. Scattered along the waterline were a bunch of white shells basking in the fading light of day. A shell would be the perfect memento to mark this new beginning. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-46133436902881753312017-08-04T12:25:00.002-04:002017-08-04T12:25:35.670-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Lora Couch<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: ABANDON<br />Category/genre: Adult Paranormal Thriller<br />Author: Lora Couch<br />Editor: Kisa Whipkey<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-lora-couch.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />Student loans suck, and Emma Lytle is in neck deep. Sick of struggling to pay the ever-ballooning payments and ready for financial freedom, Emma commits to a two-year student loan forgiveness plan in backwoods Bundance, KY. She leaves fast-paced Chicago; the only life she’s ever known, with nothing to lose. <br /><br />However, honoring her recently deceased mother’s request to return to her roots comes with an unexpected twist: horrid nightmares seen through the eyes of someone else. More than just simple dreams, these memories belong to a young girl, memories that point to the realization that Emma’s family tree is steeped in rotten soil. <br /><br />The strange happenings aren’t the only distractions Bundance has to offer. Dr. Grayson Smith is humble, hot, and everything Emma shouldn’t be falling for, especially when she plans to flee Bundance as soon as she’s served what she refers to as her two-year sentence. <br /><br />Now, amidst a budding romance and escalating nightmares turned hauntings, she’ll have to unravel the mystery behind Bundance’s dark urban legend before she loses more than just her mind. A missing girl from decades past is crying out from the grave, and only Emma can find her. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1</div><br />“See,” I say, wearing the festive sombrero along with the red, green and gold leis around my neck, “this is why I like the nightshift.” Honest to God, there are just some things on nights that staff could never dream of getting away with during the day. Alice nods and then holds out her urinal for a toast. It’s so cliché in the medical world, sending a fellow co-worker off from her last shift drinking from a urinal, but what the hell. When in Rome. I smile, knocking mine against hers, completing the toast. <br /><br />“To financial freedom.” Alice says and then chugs her Cherry Coke. <br /><br />“God, I hope so.” I reply and then pray silently before I finish off my Sprite. I need this. I really need this. Student Loans suck ass- easy to get, damn-near impossible to get rid of. I would have never dreamed, back when I was a clueless eighteen-year-old, that my thirty-year-old self would be in debt up to my eyeballs. Years of partying and changing majors two or four times over my six-year tour at Ohio State just finishing my BSN, added up fast. Looking back, I blame the government. Why they continued to loan me money year after year, clearly when I was clueless, makes me almost want to defect to Canada or maybe England. Sadly, just like death and taxes, I’m pretty sure my debt would follow. Come to think of it, US Government Student Loans I’m sure, can still catch up with you- even in the afterlife. <br /><br />My repayment, legit- is more than some people pay per month on a mortgage and almost as long of a commitment. My mother was the one who told me about the Loan Forgiveness Program, months ago before the cancer took over her brain. A chance to find my roots and make new ones, she’d said, along with something else about atonement for past sins. Damn, if she wasn’t delusional and talking all kinds of shit by the end too. <br /><br />“I still can’t believe you’re leaving,” Alice sighs and turns away. Jesus. She’s crying. Alice is actually crying. <br /><br />“It’s only a two-year commitment,” I remind her for the five-hundredth time since I’d made the decision a week after my mom passed. Nothing had been set in stone until after the funeral and the slew of mourners with the best of intentions. It was a daily thing for almost a solid week; my mom’s friends from her book club, her church and of course her job at the library- all dropping by with a ton of food but little to say in the way of comfort. Then again, there are no words period, when you’re grieving. <br /><br />My leaving was hitting Alice hard. We’ve been best friends since junior high school. We attended Ohio State together, both in the nursing program. She’d managed to complete her BSN in four years, unlike me. She helped to get me on here in the ED at St. Gabriel’s after I graduated. The thought had crossed my mind- to ask her to go with me, deep into backwoods Kentucky, where I’ll be serving my sentence. Although she’d want to, I know she’d never leave St. Gabe’s. One, her parents had paid for her college, so she wasn’t up to her eyeballs in debt and two, her fiancée was a second-year fellow, here in the ICU. She’ll go wherever he finds a position after his fellowship’s up. <br /><br />“Hey, no tears allowed, remember?” I remind her of the deal we made not long ago. “Listen, by the time my two years are up, Alex will be finished with his fellowship and who knows, maybe I’ll tag along for the ride too?” I was only partially serious of course. It’s true, with my mom gone, there really was nothing to bring me back here. Honestly though, I’m just not sure that I could tolerate Dr. Alex on a regular basis, again. The way I see it though, the world is my oyster- after I do my time. <br /><br />“I know Emma, I know.” Alice says, just as lover boy enters the break room. Instantly, her mood changes and her eyes light up. “Babe!” She squeals as he plants a kiss on the top of her head.<br /><br />“What?” He smiles and then shifts his gaze to me, underneath the sombrero, “You think I wouldn’t stop by to wish you luck Em?” I smile and that’s about it. I’d been the one to introduce them, in a roundabout way. As a matter of fact, Alex Sprague had spent the entire third year of his residency chasing me around here in this very ED, trying his best to get into my panties. Not that I’m a prude or anything, or saving myself for Mr. Right- he just isn’t my type. He’s handsome enough, but I never could stomach his uber-confidence. He always thought and still thinks that he’s the most important person in the room. Regardless, after so many rejections Alex fixed his sights on Alice. <br /><br />Yeah, I think he loves her, at least as much as Alex can love someone besides himself, but I often wonder if he didn’t do it on purpose- choosing to pursue her. Every once in a while, I still look up and catch him looking at me that way. If Alice sees this or senses some left over feelings for me, she’s never mentioned it. Anyway, I hope things change in my absence. I hope that he wakes his ass up and sees Alice for the beautiful and kind woman she is and then, thanks his lucky stars that she said yes. “Thanks guys,” I say, looking up at the clock, surprised to see that there are only a few minutes until shift change, “Wow, I guess this is it, my last shift at St. Gabe’s.”<br /><br />“Time flies,” Alice whispers and then throws herself into my arms, knocking the sombrero right off my head. “Be careful Emma, please and call me every day.” Alex catches my eye and shakes his head. <br /><br />“Yeah, Em, be careful.” He says, “remember The Hills Have Eyes?” Alice gasps and then turns toward Alex, giving his arm a hard swat. <br /><br />“Alex Sprague!” She says, “Why would you even say something like that? Jesus!” Alice then turns right back to me. “Just ignore him Emma, he’s an asshole.” This, I already know. Alice catches me off guard, knocking me sideways and almost out of my seat, when she throws her arms around me and hugs me again. <br /><br />“I’ll be fine, Alice.” I say, hoping to reassure her, “I promise I’ll call you every week at least, okay?” When I look up and see Mike Ford poking his head into the break room, I smile. My shift is officially over. <br /><br />“Hey Alice,” He says, ready for report on his patients, “Hey Emma, best of luck to you- I wish I could do that myself, but you know.” Of course I did. Everyone in the ED knew Mike’s business. He had a wife and five kids at home. There was no way in hell that he could fall off the grid for two years, even if it would absolve him of his student loan debt. He had too many mouths to feed. <br /><br />“Thanks Mike,” I say, “You take care of yourself and your team.” Mike smiles and walks over for a goodbye hug. <br /><br />“Be careful girl,” He whispers and then looks over at Alice, “Ready?” Alice shakes her head and follows him out to the desk to give him report. Left alone in the break room with Alex, I start to gather my things to go. Awkward. I can feel his eyes on me. Awkward as fuck. <br /><br />“I’m sorry about that Em,” He says, moving closer, “what I said about The Hills. That was stupid, you know I was kidding, right?” Damn…I roll my eyes when he puts his hands on my shoulders. So much for a quick getaway.<br /><br />“Sure Alex,” I look up, smile and shift slightly to my right, effectively displacing his right hand from my shoulder, “By the way, that movie took place in a desert, not Kentucky.” Alex smiles.<br /><br />“Yeah, but there are freaks everywhere,” He says, “Maybe I should have referenced to Deliverance instead?” You’re the freak… Is what I want to tell him, but then bite my tongue instead. <br /><br />“No worries- just take care of Alice for me, please?” Alex sighs and shakes his head. Good. I turn to make my escape and a clean break, leaving Alex, his amorous eyes and his wandering hands behind me. No more touchy-feely from my bestie’s fiancée. Almost to the door, Alex catches my arm and pulls me back hard, into his chest.<br /><br />“What, Em?” He says, “No hug for me?” Shit. I’d hoped to avoid this kind of thing altogether. I never wanted to give him the chance to act on what I know he still feels. <br /><br />“Alex,” I wince, his grip tight on my arm, “let me go. Let me go and open your fucking eyes.” Alex’s face softens- saddens as he places one hand against my neck.<br /><br />“My eyes are open,” He whispers, “they always have been Em, don’t you see that?” I brush his hand away meaning to go, but he won’t let me. Hell. My eyes meet his and I already know what’s going on in his messed-up head. I know what’s coming next. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-55669943547891398192017-08-03T21:55:00.000-04:002017-08-03T21:55:34.640-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Sandra Budiansky<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: TAKING UP SPACE<br />Category/genre: YA Contemporary<br />Author: Sandra Budiansky<br />Chosen by editor Julia A. Weber<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-sandra-budiansky.html" target="_blank">here</a>. <br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />Skyler Montgomery wants to be in love. Well, she wants to be in love with someone besides Cole, her best friend's boyfriend. So when she meets RJ, a cute skateboarder, who seems to like her, 'curves' and all, she will do anything to hold onto him. But when his affection turns abusive, she has trouble deciding what kind of love she wants and what she willing to give up to get it. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">1</div>Jenna and Cole are fighting.<br /><br />Again.<br /><br />The three of us are sitting at our usual table outside Christian’s Pizza. Jenna’s pretending to be staring at her phone, and Cole is muttering under his breath. Their slices remain untouched. Mine are already gone.<br /><br />Here’s to another summer of being their third wheel.<br /><br />I play with the straw in my cup, the squeaky noise against the plastic breaking the silence at the table. Around us, moms navigate their strollers over the bumpy brick road of the pedestrian Downtown Mall while a little ways down, the skateboarders take up their semi-permanent spot near the movie theater. Their voices and laughter carry over to us. <br /><br />“Checking out your boyfriend, Skye?” Jenna says, barely looking up from her phone.<br /><br />I divert my eyes from the skaters. <br /><br />“What boyfriend?” Cole asks, trying to look past me.<br /><br />“No one.”<br /><br />“That one over there, dressed all in black.” Jenna begins to point, but I pull her hand down. “Skye told me she thought he was cute.”<br /><br />I sink down in my chair. I have to get new friends. <br /><br />“So what about the party tonight?” I bring the subject back around to the reason they were fighting in the first place. “We’re going. We always go,” Jenna says. She leans over next to me and pulls me near her. “Smile, Skye!” She holds up her phone and takes a selfie of us, and then held it up for me to approve. “Come on, you look cute!”<br /><br />“I look huge. My head takes up most of the picture and I have like three chins.”<br /><br />“Let me see.” Jenna shows Cole the phone. <br /><br />“Delete it.”<br /><br />Cole leans in and whispers, “I know what you look like, I’m sitting across from you.” <br /><br />Yeah, but I don’t like the reminder, no, the proof that I look the way I do: Overweight, red faced and splotchy because my pale skin hates the Virginian sun. <br /><br />“So what time should I come over tonight?” Jenna asks Cole.<br /><br />“We can go if you promise no drinking.”<br /><br />She stares for a beat and before agreeing. “I promise.” She smiles and crosses her heart with her finger. When she leans across the table to kiss him, Cole stands to meet her half way. <br /><br />“And with that, I have to go,” I say. I pick up Jenna’s phone and check the time. “Jack’s going to be home soon.”<br /><br />“Ugh, your brother will be fine, he’s like what thirteen?”<br /><br />“Twelve. But you know how my mom is.”<br /><br />To say my mom is overprotective would be an understatement. She and Dad are always fighting over custody of us, and she’s on edge that one little mistake will give him fuel to reopen the case. So she keeps pretty close tabs on Jack and me. The fact that she even let me go with Jenna and Cole to celebrate our last finals today is a minor miracle.<br /><br />“I hope she eases up this summer,” Jenna says. “It sucks that your curfew is so early.”<br /><br />Ten o’clock. Even Jenna’s strict Japanese parents allow her to stay out until eleven. Though they’d freak out if they ever found out about Cole, or that she talks to boys at all. <br /><br />“The trolley’s coming, I need to go.”<br /><br />“I’ll give you a ride,” Cole says, crumbling his own plate. <br /><br />“I thought we were going to go to the movies.” Jenna pouts at Cole.<br /><br />Cole turns to her but keeps his eyes on me. “Right, I forgot.” <br /><br />Jenna sighs and shakes her head, her eyes darkening a bit. “What time are you done with Weight Watch—” She stops when she notices me glaring at her. “That thing tonight?”<br /><br />Cole rolls his eyes; he knows but is kind enough to pretend he doesn’t. <br /><br />“I’ll be home by six.” I wave, grabbing my bag and squeezing my way between my chair and the one behind me, and start running toward the trolley. I feel my face warm, annoyed with Jenna. She knows I don’t want to tell Cole or anyone about going to Weight Watchers. It’s embarrassing. <br /><br />I pick up my pace a bit when I notice the last person boarding the trolley is already getting on. Panting, I race ahead. I really need to get into better shape. Suddenly, something rolls in front of me and my foot trips and I fall forward, catching myself with my hands, but not before my chin hits the ground. <br /><br />“Oh shit! Are you okay?” I hear the words, but don’t recognize the voice. <br /><br />I scramble up, wiping my hands on my pants. I shut my eyes tight to push away the tears. When I open them, I notice everyone around me staring. <br /><br />“Hey, are you all right?” The cute skaterboy I’ve been seeing around appears next to me, grabbing his board, which is apparently what I tripped over. <br /><br />“Yeah, I think so,” I say, touching my chin. Thankfully, there’s no blood. I see the trolley pull away, and I wish the ground would open and swallow me. Some UVA kids are staring at their phones and laughing. Did they take a picture of me on the ground? I can imagine the tweet - Miss Piggy goes splat at Downtown Mall. <br /><br />“Sorry! I screwed up that trick and my board got away from me. Oh God, you’re crying. You’re not okay,” Cute Skaterboy says, squatting down next to me.<br /><br />“No, I’m fine. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.” <br /><br />“Don’t apologize to me.” He looks me up and down and then smiles. My heart beats faster, which is stupid because he’s not checking me out, he’s just checking to make sure I’m okay.<br /><br />“Skye, you all right?” Cole runs over to us. <br /><br />“She’s fine, no blood,” Skaterboy says. <br /><br />Cole ignores him. “You sure?” <br /><br />“Yeah, except I missed my ride.” I point to where the trolley is now turning right at the end of the road. <br /><br />“Come back and wait with us. Or I can take you home now,” Cole says. <br /><br />Cute Skaterboy stands to the side awkwardly. I turn to him and repeat I’m fine, and he waves and skates over back to his friends. Well, I guess falling on my face is one way to get him to notice me. <br /><br />“What about the movies?” I ask. “Jenna will be pissed if you blow her off for me.”<br /><br />“Right.” We both turn to glance at her still sitting at the table, staring at her phone as usual. “But she gets pissed off if the wind blows and her hair gets messed up.”<br /><br />“Cole! She’s your girlfriend.”<br /><br />“I guess. But you’re my best friend and you need help.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me into a side hug.<br /><br />This is why I can’t get over the guy. He knows. He knows how I feel, everyone freaking knows how I feel and I know there’s no chance. Not anymore. Which is another reason I need new friends. <br /><br />“I’ll see you later, Cole.” I gently push him away, back toward Jenna. This little trio of ours is so dysfunctional. I watch him go back to Christian’s, where Jenna’s waiting with a scowl on her face. Not thirty seconds later, he’s leaning down to kiss her. My stomach flips. This being in love with my best friend’s guy thing sucks.<br /><br />“Sorry you missed your ride,” Cute Skaterboy says from behind me. He kicks the end of his board and it flies vertically into his hand. <br /><br />“Oh, I’m fine.” I’m always fine. <br /><br />“I was trying to do this trick that my friend Sven made up. He calls it the Locoflip, anyway, the board got away from me.” <br /><br />“Try again,” I say, surprising myself.<br /><br />“Sure, yeah, okay, watch.” He drops the board, gets on, skates around a bit and then kicks it up. This time it lands wheels up. He laughs. “Yeah, that sucked.” His pants are ripped in the knee, showing off a large scrap. <br /><br />“You just need to practice.” As if I know anything about skating. I swing my bag around to my other shoulder. <br /><br />“Whoa, you’ve got a lot of pins,” he says, noticing my messenger bag. The top flap is completely covered in pins. It’s stuffed with my journal, a few books, phone, wallet, Advil, and whatever else I end up shoving in there. I barely empty it. Jenna’s constantly telling me I don’t need anything but my phone and wallet, “maybe a lipstick” but I feel naked without my stuff.<br /><br />“Yeah, it’s a little out of control.” It started when I was a kid and my parents took me to Disney. Now, I like ones with not-so-clever sayings like “Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?” and “What is the speed of dark?” Mom and I buy them whenever we go into some tacky souvenir shop. There’s about twenty on my bag but an entire shoe box full at home. I don’t tell any of this to him. He must think I have a terrible sense of humor. <br /><br />He pulls my bag toward him, drags me a few steps with it. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-18018983476055645572017-08-03T21:26:00.003-04:002017-08-04T12:14:57.989-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Jacy Sutton<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: JUST ONE YOU<br />Category/genre: Adult Commercial Fiction<br />Author: Jacy Sutton<br />Editor: Rebecca Heyman<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-jacy-sutton.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />If happy enough is enough, then Elle and Beth have it all. <br /><br />College professor Elle has a sexy young boyfriend who keeps her satisfied, at least in the bedroom. When she meets a new man who challenges her intellect and her assumptions, she has to decide if upending her life is worth the effort. <br /><br />Beth married her high school sweetheart. She’s never even kissed another man. There was one guy, a long time ago, who tempted her... and he just got back in touch. Getting reacquainted with him could be thrilling, but it may threaten the only love she’s ever known. <br /><br />Beth and Elle’s stories have eerie parallels that lead back to a mysterious shared memory -- and a single, life-changing choice. Only the past can reveal how each woman has arrived in the present, and what it will take for her to be happy. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1</div><br /><i>Adley College, St. Paul</i><br />God, he was young. His hair was thick and blond with brown hues, his face smooth. His perfect limbs—slim, sinewy—lay at awkward angles on the small Victorian couch in Elle’s office. David often fell into a fast, deep sleep after they made love. A catnap to re-energize. He took her as though he was training for a triathlon, and typically he needed sleep or carbs afterwards. Elle enjoyed both. <br /><br />If they’d been at her house, the tidy bungalow off Grand Avenue, she would have crept quietly from bed into the kitchen, preparing a meal quickly before he woke. She would grab a jar of the tomatoes she’d blanched last fall, the way she’d learned that summer in Rome, and toss them with fresh basil from the pot she kept in the sunny west window. To that, she would add ridiculous amounts of pasta in a futile effort to curb his oversized man-boy hunger. <br /><br />But when they made love in her office, as they had today, Elle would curl up in the overstuffed armchair, tucked back into the old room’s small turret. She pulled her skirt back on, and her blouse, buttoning just two or three buttons, and let her bra lie on the floor where he’d discarded it. When David awoke she could go to him, open her shirt and press her chest naked against his as he roused himself from slumber, kissing her indiscriminately on her chin, her throat, her firm, upturned breasts. <br /><br />Elle curled her slim legs under her on the chair and reached for the honey-colored, nubby throw blanket. The natural light from the window above allowed her to read without turning on the harsh overhead that might wake David from his sweet, swift slumber. And, if she was honest with herself, the natural light made her look younger. At least, not so much older than him. <br /><br />She should read the Eudora Welty essays she’d promised to get back to her senior honors students, but the afternoon had an indulgent quality she didn’t want to relinquish. Possibly because they’d made love twice—not their usual.<br /><br />Instead, Elle picked up her worn copy of Persuasion. A Save the Date postcard for her twentieth high school reunion poked out. <br /><br />Twenty years. It couldn’t possibly be. But it also seemed like so many more. Mostly her days at Tennyson High were like an old, out-of-focus movie. She remembered a vague friendship with the girl whose locker was next to hers, and frustration with the group of kids whose antics led to hours of authoritative lectures and not much else from the tired, old Chemistry teacher. Even the memories of her high school boyfriend were dull around the edges.<br /><br />Her most distinct recollections were of her high school English teacher, Mr. Green. He was the one who had given her Persuasion. During class he’d try to sway students toward American authors like Steinbeck or Twain, but near the end of the school year he handed her a hardcover of the Jane Austen novel. The book looked newly purchased, but he insisted he was clearing out old college texts. “This is your kind of thing,” he’d said. “People falling in love at the wrong time.” In hindsight, the sentiment sounded almost like a curse.<br /><br />David sighed in his sleep. She guessed he wouldn’t wake for another twenty minutes yet. She’d rouse him after that if she had to. He had his graduate seminar tonight.<br /><br />Elle tucked the blanket more tightly around her legs. She flipped to her favorite scene and traced her finger along the familiar words: “I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.” <br /><br /><br /><i>Oconomowoc, Wisconsin</i><br />He wasn’t young anymore. Lord knows, neither was she. But she worked a bit harder at it. Moisturizer twice a day. Sunscreen and spin class. There had been about nine months of hot yoga. Before that, Pilates. And earlier still, step aerobics. <br /><br />The hair didn’t help. He’d started to lose it right after Allie was born. It came off in lock step with Beth’s baby weight. He was still handsome, though. Slim. No more than ten pounds over his college weight. Hardly noticeable. Maybe only a bit around his waist. <br /><br />Watching him from the back, Beth admired her husband of fifteen years. Bobby played the boom box so loudly he didn’t even turn when she pulled into the garage. He stood in front of the workbench, staring down intently. When Beth got closer she could see he was busy with the roller shade from Kyle’s bedroom. Kyle had pulled on it too hard and it wouldn’t spring back up. Those things were so touchy.<br /><br />Bobby worked alone because Kyle was at his part-time job—bagging groceries at the upscale store nearby. It was the only place Kyle had found willing to hire a 14-year-old. He was saving to buy an iPhone. Beth and Bobby had agreed to pay half, impressed with Kyle’s initiative and his several impassioned speeches convincing them the schedule wouldn’t be too much: one weeknight and every Saturday, mid-morning till late afternoon. <br /><br />Allie, a year younger than Kyle, had been selected for a premier volleyball team that practiced three suburbs away, typically a forty-five minute drive. Two friends had also been chosen. So Beth drove Saturday morning drop-off, and the mom of one of the friends did pick-up three hours later. The third girl’s parents had wisely begged off. <br /><br />The first Saturday after the hour-and-a-half round trip, Beth came home and found Bobby in their master bathroom. He’d just finished recaulking the bathtub. The thought of making a thick, black, satisfying line through an item on the to-do list (the one pinned to the kitchen bulletin board, not the one in the laundry room), coupled with both kids gone, aroused Beth more than a bottle of Chardonnay and a roaring fire. <br /><br />They’d celebrated Bobby’s handyman work with fast, furious lovemaking that left her gasping. The next week Bobby taped, then painted, the small half bath in the lower level. And last week the leaky faucet in the kitchen had been dismantled, repaired and reassembled. <br /><br />Now, he was hard at work on Kyle’s shade. Beth stepped behind him and he jumped at her touch. He absent-mindedly pecked her cheek and said, “Give me five minutes.” <br /><br />They’d never discussed this… arrangement. It had simply evolved, but it seemed to suit them both. <br /><br />Beth went ahead of him into the bedroom, thinking about a shirt she’d bought at the end of the summer, a few months back. Allie had dragged her into one of those clothing stores targeting teen girls, where everything was poorly made, too revealing, and so cheap that kids could buy the clothes themselves. As Allie shopped for shoes at the back of the store, Beth spied a little white top, sleeveless with a deep v-neck. The lower half of the shirt was see-through while the rest had a thin white lining—a modest attempt at modesty. It was $9.87 and ridiculously revealing. Beth looked at it on the rack for several long minutes until Allie came to negotiate her purchase before wandering off again. With her daughter occupied, Beth grabbed the top and quietly asked the salesgirl to wrap it in tissue, which she then stuffed in her oversized Coach knock-off. <br /><br />Today, Beth found it in her bottom drawer, back left corner. She hadn’t realized it was a kind of spandex and half a size too small, with the happy accident of pulling her together and making her appear a perfect 34C, when really she always thought of herself as more of a B-plus. <br /><br />As she gazed down, scrutinizing, Bobby tramped into the room with a catcall. “My God, you’re hot,” he said, stepping to her without preamble and kissing her hard on the lips. It typically took Beth a few minutes to catch up to his fervor. She felt his lips press down hard, his tongue greedily encircling hers, and made a mindful effort to clear her thoughts. Forget shopping with Allie. Forget the roller shade. Forget dinner. <br /><br />Bobby’s hand slid from around her waist and pawed hard at her breast, caressing it through the tight fabric. She closed her eyes and listened to his mumbled intimacies. She’d noticed during their lovemaking that his voice dropped an octave, so that it was unfamiliar. It had occurred to her, from time to time, that his honeyed whisperings could be nearly anyone: Brad Pitt, David Beckham—the man who came into the bookstore every Tuesday afternoon, always making sure it was Beth who waited on him; even the young teacher she’d had her senior year of high school.<br /><br />Beth felt Bobby’s hardness push against her. She reached for the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, exposing his naked chest. She laid her palm on him. So familiar—the contours of muscle; the thick, coarse hair, curled tightly like little springs. <br /><br />“This shirt,” he growled. “You look like a Victoria’s Secret model.”<br /><br />Bobby kissed her again, urgent and demanding. His insistence nearly always worked on her. The more she felt his desire, the more it stoked her own. She began to respond to the warmth of his skin pressed again hers, to the sound of his heated words. The combination of his reckless tongue and wandering grasp intensified the heat. “Yes, Bobby,” she murmured. “Yes, please.” Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-77683383147227024522017-08-03T21:09:00.000-04:002017-08-03T21:09:10.187-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Sophia Beaumont<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: ALL FOR ONE<br />Category/genre: YA Adventure<br />Author: Sophia Beaumont<br />Editor: Jeni Chappelle<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-sophia-beaumont.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />In 1862, the Republic of Quebec has a constitutional monarchy, established ninety years before by Marie Antoinette, who fled France’s revolution. Under the influence of its matriarchal leaders, Quebec is the first country to grant equal rights to all citizens, regardless of gender. <br /><br />Louise Drapeau is willing and eager to take advantage of these rights as she travels from her small town to the capital to join the most elite fighting force in the country, the all-female Queen’s Guard, also known as the Musketeers. She’s barely in the city twenty-four hours, however, when she uncovers a plot to kill the queen, headed by Quebec’s First Minister, Cardinal Lefebvre. <br /><br />With the help of her three new friends—Portia, Athena, and Arabella—Louise must unravel the increasingly complex politics of the palace in order to not only save the queen but to keep neutral Quebec out of the Civil War raging just a few hundred miles south in the United States.<br /><br /> Surely this will be enough to get her into the Musketeers—if she can survive.<br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: center;">CHAPTER ONE—M’LORD</div><br />The bluish shadow of the city rose up before me, like Aphrodite emerging from the sea. My heart quickened at the sight of it. I could already feel the rumble of the elevated trains, see the floating specks of hot air balloons as they lowered into the airfields to the east and south. <br /><br />“We’re almost there, girl,” I told Bijou, patting the back of the horse’s neck. <br /><br />The road curved, the trees parted, and a town appeared between us and the bridge leading to the island of Montréal. With a sigh as reluctant as my mount, I pushed down the impulsiveness driving me forward and directed Bijou to a roadside inn, staring longingly at the high, arched bridge looming ahead. I paused to stare. It was a feat of architecture unlike anything in the small village I’d left behind. The sight of something so foreign made me ache for home.<br /><br />Though I was itching to get into the city—the city! —I didn’t want my first impression to be one covered in road dust and sweat. At any rate, it was late. The sun was already hidden behind the trees, and lights were coming on in the village. Even if I pushed ahead, it would be after ten o’clock when I arrived and no one would see me then.<br /><br />A boy ran out from the stable. He held the reins as I dismounted. I gave him a coin and directions for Bijou’s care then made my way to the inn. The smell of beef stew made my stomach growl. <br /><br />I stretched a little as I strolled toward the front door. Through the window, I could see the hostess, just lighting the lamps for the evening. They gave a warm golden glow that made her heart-shaped face positively angelic. By their light, I spied a cluster of men seated around a corner table, tankards and bowls of stew spread out in front of them.<br /><br />The ringleader raised an eyebrow as I entered, removing my hat and brushing dust from the wide brim. <br /><br />I caught the eye of the hostess, and she came over, bobbing a curtsy. “What can I do for you, mademoiselle?” <br /><br />“It’s Louise. Louise Drapeau. And I’d like some dinner, please. And a room for the night.” <br /><br />She nodded, smiling, and scurried off to the kitchen. But not before I caught a playful wink and noticed the violets embroidered on her apron—the symbol of the sapphists. <br /><br />I spotted a newspaper on the gentlemen’s table and nodded toward it. “Do you mind?” <br /><br />One of them curled a lip. “Can you even read, peasant?”<br /><br />I glanced down at my riding costume—flared trousers tucked into tall boots and a cropped jacket—and my face flushed. My mother had stayed up all night before I left, adjusting the cut of the jacket so I would have something smart to wear on my first day in the new city. It was flattering, I thought. <br /><br />His friends joined in now, making fun of what was apparently a provincial outfit.<br /><br />“I’m sorry. I know we’re a little old fashioned in Saint-Jérôme.” I schooled my expression into a smile. “For example, we still learn common courtesy and manners.” <br /><br />The grin dropped off the man’s face, and he jumped to his feet. “What did you say to me?”<br /><br />“Only that, of the two of us, you appear to be the one whose education was neglected.” <br /><br />The hostess returned to the dining room, arms loaded with my dinner and another pitcher of beer for the men, but she let out a little cry when she saw the two of us facing off and hurried back into the kitchen. <br /><br />His friends rose around him, but I hardly glanced in their direction. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. I rolled my eyes, dropping my bag on the closest table. My weapons were bundled up with it, since I hadn’t needed them on the road. I wondered if I would be fast enough to pull one out. “And here you’re calling me old fashioned. Do you carry a sword because you want everyone to know you’re rich enough to get away with dueling, or is it because you’re so short sighted you can’t aim a pistol?” <br /><br />I’m not an expert in human anatomy, but I was pretty sure the giant purple vein in his forehead wasn’t supposed to be there. He made an inarticulate noise somewhere between a growl and a scream and lunged at me.<br /><br />Sidestepping easily, I drew the long knife sticking out from my bag in one swift movement. My opponent drew his sword. It gleamed, even in the shadows of the inn, gas light catching the thin, silver blade and the gold basket covering his hand. <br /><br />My maneuvering put the door at my back. Keeping one eye on the angry noble and the other on his friends, I lured him outside like leading a particularly vicious dog with a piece of meat. <br /><br />I hated it when I have to be the meat. <br /><br />Streaks of blood red and purple painted the sky as I backed into the dusty yard in front of the building, my heart already thumping eagerly. After the long journey, it felt good to stretch my legs.<br /><br />He jabbed angrily, and I danced out of the way. Another wild swing, in which he used the rapier more like a club and once again didn’t come close to hitting me. Then he stepped back, gathered himself, and settled into a practiced stance.<br /><br />His next swing wasn’t wild. I still managed to dodge, but he was ready, and I had to put up my knife to block the next attack. <br /><br />My mind cleared, relaxing into the flow of the fight. All of my senses felt heightened, even as my focus narrowed to the task ahead of me. I saw the next move he would make before he did. I calculated my chances of making a hit. They weren’t good. He was well trained, at least a head taller than me, and he had the superior weapon and reach. I would have to get under his guard somehow or maybe distract him—<br /><br />Before I could formulate a plan, he swung the rapier in a sweeping arc, which I blocked with the knife. <br /><br />It was a long hunting knife, about the length of my forearm and hand, with a thick, steel blade. Part of one edge was serrated, for cutting through tough hide and rope. <br /><br />His thin blade caught on those teeth. Without thinking, I twisted my wrist, deflecting the blow with a circular motion, the way I would if I’d had my sword. <br /><br />The rapier snapped like a twig. For a moment, he stood there, staring in disbelief. <br /><br />By then, all his friends had come out to watch. They lined up in front of the door just in time to see their companion lose the duel, the broken end of his sword flying across the yard and landing with a splash in the water trough by the hitching post. <br /><br />I blinked twice, almost as stunned as he was. <br /><br />Then he let out a yell. “Cheat!” <br /><br />He and three of his friends surged forward, setting on me. I turned to run, but the way was blocked by a carriage, apparently pulled up as we’d been fighting. I’d been too engrossed to notice. <br /><br />Before I could find a way around it, one of them grabbed the back of my jacket, throwing me to the ground. I landed hard on my back, all the air whooshing from my lungs. I had just enough time to roll onto my side and cover my head, tucking my knees up to my chest before they attacked, blows raining down on me. <br /><br />Something hit my face, and I tasted blood. A sharp toe struck my back. It was all I could do not to scream. <br /><br />“There, now! That’s enough,” drawled a masculine voice. <br /><br />The blows petered to a stop, slowly. I kept up my defensive poise, just in case.<br /><br />Cracking one eye open, I peered through my fingers. In the dying light, a shadow strode toward us. <br /><br />“M’lord, I didn’t mean—she started it!”<br /><br />The shadow waved a hand. As he got closer, his face swam into focus. I recognized him from their table at the inn. Tall, handsome. Dark hair sweeping to one side and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in the latest fashion, at least as far as I could tell. Usually the only reason to mix that many kinds of plaid was because someone did it at court. <br /><br />“M’lord” held out a hand to me as they parted around us.Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-46293343762427339232017-08-03T15:53:00.003-04:002017-08-03T15:53:36.230-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Tim Collins<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: DYING IS THE EASY PART<br />Category/genre: YA Thriller<br />Author: Tim Collins<br />Editor: Kyra Nelson<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-tim-collins.html" target="_blank">here</a>.&nbsp; <br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />Following a near-fatal incident, fifteen-year-old Marc learns that with every near-death experience, the men in his family are rewarded with increasingly superhuman strength accompanied by an irresistible pleasure high, but a cursed darkness grows on their souls.<br /><br />Marc continually finds himself in dangerous situations causing his friends to distance themselves, but his father’s best friend, Milt, takes an interest in the newfound abilities. After his father’s suicide, a cryptic family journal and Milt are Marc’s only help in deciphering his dad's last words: "It doesn't have to be a curse."<br /><br />Following Milt’s direction, Marc’s search only succeeds in creating a body count. Alienated, on the run from authorities, and slipping deeper into the darkness, Marc will spend the rest of his life as Milt’s pawn or an inmate in the local penitentiary if he can’t learn to manage the curse long enough to prove his father right.<br /><br />UNBREAKABLE meets ASYLUM. <br /><b><br /></b><b>Opening pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1</div><br />We lived in a flawed design, a failure of the greatest magnitude. <br /><br />The human body.<br /><br />It provided little protection from the elements, beasts of nature, or sharp objects.<br /><br />I concluded it’s cursed, not flawed. At least mine is. Mind and body.<br /><br />Not everyone believed in curses. Most called it bad luck, but the town labeled us crazy. The word immortal accompanied crazy when I was younger, but then Mom died.<br /><br /><i>She’s dead. Not coming back.</i><br /><br />The knife’s cold, uncaring serrated edge yearned to challenge the paradox of immortality in a flawed design. It pressed against the smooth underside of my wrist.<br /><br /><i>Probably not be the best way of disproving crazy though.</i><br /><br />I hesitated, but my wrist beat back logic with pressure on my skin. Painful pressure. <br /><br />The pulsating blood peaked in the same spot horizontally on my wrist creating a bumped line.<br /><br />I glanced at the instructions on the generic box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.<br /><br />“Cut along the dotted line.”<br /><br />As if dropping an apple from a great height and expecting gravity to ignore it, I slid the blade of the black handle Henckels paring knife across the imaginary dotted line on my wrist.<br /><br />A searing pain radiated the length of my forearm. The fingers on my injured arm twitched uncontrollably. The knife clattered a bloody Christening on the white tile. I stared down at the knife.<br /><br /><i>Gravity? Check.</i><br /><br />My eyes turned to the red trouble flowing from my wrist.<br /><br /><i>Flawed design? Check.</i><br /><br />Blood spurted from my wrist, free flowing across my palms and down the length of my fingers.<br /><br /><i>Why?</i><br /><br />Logic returned, but I didn’t have an answer. I regretted my decision.<br /><br />“Dad!” I screamed.<br /><br />I twirled, leaving behind a red circle with the artistry level of a second grader. My uninjured hand grabbed for anything I could use to cover my wrist. The barren kitchen offered nothing more than a dirty dish towel. If the cut didn’t kill me, the bacteria surely would.<br /><br />The red puddle turned my head inside out. A sludge of bile attacked the back of my throat. <br /><br />My legs crumpled as I reached for the phone, landing me a seat in a pool of blood. The knife sat next to me, taunting me.<br /><br />Not a butcher’s knife. Not even a steak knife. Nothing manly. <br /><br />A farging paring knife.<br /><br /><i>I hate you.</i><br /><br />“Dad!” I screamed between rapid breaths until my throat hurt. Clyde, my furball dog, danced around me, licking my face as I found myself firmly planted on the floor.<br /><br />“Dammit, Dad, I need help.” My yell faded to a whimper. “Clyde, go get Dad.”<br /><br />Clyde’s tail dropped with my sobbing words, but he refused to leave my side. <br /><br />Loyalty. Clyde’s gravity.<br /><br />I pulled at the long hanging curly chord on the phone. It stretched and strained, but the stupid hook wouldn’t release its grip on the receiver. It joined the knife taunting me.<br /><br />“The most important thing is to remain calm,” Dad said from the other side of the island. “Better to handle this on your own. First time fighting the curse is the toughest, but I’ll give you a couple pointers. Slow your breathing. Don’t waste energy. Be rational with decision making.”<br /><br />“Rational? I’m dying!” Panic overwhelmed relief. “I think I’m going to pass out.” My body lurched left.<br /><br />Curse? Did he say curse or hear me curse?<br /><br />“No! No! Stay with it. Pick yourself up. Dial nine-one-one. Tie the dish towel tighter. What else you can do?” Dad encouraged me but made no effort to help. <br /><br />I didn’t understand.<br /><br />“Raise my hand over my head?”<br /><br />“Is that a question?” he asked.<br /><br />I lifted both arms while pressuring my wrist. Logic fought rationality.<br /><br />“Good. What else?”<br /><br />I glanced at the sink, Mom’s sink. Deep breaths temporarily quelled my panic. “I could fill the sink with cold water and slow the blood flow.”<br /><br /><i>Logic? Check.</i><br /><br />I tried standing, positioning my arms above my head.<br /><br />“Maybe not the greatest idea, but you’re thinking,” Dad said.<br /><br /><i>Uncheck logic.</i><br /><br />He moved around the island closer to me. “But aren’t you forgetting what to do first?”<br /><br />Not closer to me. Closer to the coffee pot. Dad needed a steaming hot cup of hangover juice for his morning mug. You know what they say, you need to be bright eyed and alert when you watch your son bleed out.<br /><br />I think that’s what they say.<br /><br />Who’s they?<br /><br />Dad snapped his fingers. “Yahoo. Focus.”<br /><br />“None of this would be necessary if you would help me!” I wildly bit at his leg.<br /><br />He picked up the receiver and handed me the phone. “Since I’m here.”<br /><br />Lunging for the bite may not have been the best move. My head danced in circles. “Call nine-one-one?”<br /><br />“That’s right. I’ll dial this one for you.”<br /><br />I grabbed the phone creating a crimson handprint on the receiver.<br /><br />A long stream of blood flowed down my arm collecting on my shoulder. Memories escaped via a blood conduit. Memories of loved ones. They lived in the heart, not the head. The heart pumps blood. Irrational or not, I believed it. <br /><br />Tears hit my cheeks. More memories leaving? What if the blood puddling on the floor were memories of Mom? I had none to spare.<br /><br />The phone trilled. I stared into the pool of red hoping for Mom’s face, but I saw only hatred for Dad. How could he stand there? <br /><br />My head bobbed.<br /><br />“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” a calm female voice said.<br /><br />I blanked.<br /><br />“Hello. Do you have an emergency? Can you talk?” The voice stuttered.<br /><br />“Watch your wrist.” Dad pointed to my drooping arm. A small drop of coffee crested the side of the mug adding to the mess on the floor. “Damn.”<br /><br />“Hello?” The female voice regained composure.<br /><br />“Water.” The only word I managed.<br /><br />“Is someone drowning? Are you at the creek?” A high-pitched creek pierced my ear. No one in this town mentioned the creek.<br /><br />“No. Couldn’t turn the cold water on,” I said.<br /><br />“Do you have an emergency?” Her voice changed tone three times.<br /><br />“Come on, Kid. You can do this.” Dad kneeled close but remained outside the circle of blood.<br /><br />The woman whispered. “Are you unable to talk because someone is threatening you?”<br /><br />“I’m cut. My wrist. Bleeding bad. Lots of blood. Need help.” I sounded like a Geico spokesperson. A few grunts and I’d have myself an audition tape.<br /><br />“Can you tell me your address?” she asked.<br /><br />More information? I wanted to scream, send help, but I focused on Dad’s eyes and gathered myself. “I’m on Allison Road. Small house. Yellow with black shutters. Two. Zero. One.” I lost the last number somewhere in the puddle of blood.<br /><br />“Alright, we’re sending help to two-zero-one Allison Road—”<br /><br />“No.” I summoned what strength remained.<br /><br />“You don’t want help?”<br /><br />“Five. Two-Zero-One-Five.” <br /><br />It’s quite probable this girl needed to be fired.<br /><br />“Two-Zero-One-Five. Alright, help is on the way. Please remain with me on the line until help arrives.”<br /><br />I pointed to the phone mount and flicked my index finger. Dad understood.<br /><br /><i>Click.</i><br /><br />“No, thank you?” He asked.<br /><br />I attempted to show him a single finger, but my arm weighed a million pounds. Surely it should have been lighter given all the blood I lost.<br /><br />I leaned back against the island and stared at the kitchen light. “Why?”<br /><br />“Why what?” Dad stepped around me and fished the phone out of the blood before placing it back on the hook. He didn’t even wipe it clean.<br /><br />“Why are you going to stand there and watch me die?” If this is who I was to become, maybe dying would be the right choice.<br /><br />“You think that’s what I’m doing?” He asked. “Listen, if I loaded you in the truck and drove you to the hospital, it would still take us twenty-five minutes. Maybe twenty if I ran the lights. The ambulance arrives in twelve minutes, and the best part is their focus will be on you and only you. We can’t say that about the hospital.” Dad never blinked. I swore I saw a small twinkle in his smile. “I’ll unlock the doors.”<br /><br />“But.” Everything in my narrow field of vision turned cloudy.<br /><br />“But nothing. I won’t always be around to help you like today. Just remember, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” He clapped. “Come here, Clyde.” My dog. The only thing in the house who tried helping me.<br /><br />His silhouette may have faded with Clyde in tow, but I heard his voice. “Milt?” Apparently, Dad saw fit to call his best friend during the morning excitement. “I think it’s started. Yeah. Cut his wrist. Guess it never skips a generation, which means we gotta get started looking.”<br /><br />The slamming bedroom door shook the house.<br /><br />“Looking. Looking for what?” I said. “A new kid? A cleaning lady that can keep her mouth shut? An undertaker?”<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />Drip. Drip. Drip.<br /><br />The blood clinging to the edge of my elbow ceded its grip and fell to the floor rhythmically. Dad saw fit to crack the doors open when he unlocked them. A subtle winter breeze joined my pity party. <br /><br />Nothing left but to hope death didn’t ride on the wind today. If so, he better be a kick-ass, firing breathing skeleton riding atop a nightmare.<br /><br />I opted to lie flat on my back and bring my arm around to my chest. I defeated the monotonous dripping sound. A small victory, but small victories were all I had left. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-67327285345762990062017-08-03T13:52:00.001-04:002017-08-04T13:02:29.941-04:00Editing Round Showcase - Erica Sumner<i>After seven weeks of working with their ShoreIndie editors on developmental and substantive edits, the Round 1 winners have submitted their revised blurbs and first pages for the Judging Round. Here's a taste of what the judges are reading! (Please note that the revised entries have not yet been copy edited because copy editing is included in the Grand Prize and Runner-Up prize packages.)</i><br /><br />Title: AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGMENT (formerly <i>Chronicles of a Wineaux: Chicken Soup Can't Heal Cell Phones</i>)<br />Category/genre: NA Mystery<br />Author: Erica Sumner<br />Editor: Cynthia T. Luna<br />Original version <a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/round-1-showcase-erica-sumner.html" target="_blank">here</a>. <br /><br /><b>Book blurb</b><br /><br />I should have called the cops from day one. <br /><br />Until GBA490, graduating with honors from the University of Alabama was going to be easier than taking my lovable dachshund, Mauzzy, out for a walk. Now, I’m sitting in an interrogation room with visions of bunking with Big Betty for the next five to ten years (wearing—<i>gag</i>— government-issue <i>orange</i>). <br /><br />Yet another Sara Donovan mess not <i>entirely</i> of my making. First, imagine the hardest course you could ever take, and then imagine taking it while being waterboarded. Yeah. That’s GBA490. Then, a mistake halfway around the world put me in the crosshairs of an international smuggling ring, and the FBI. So, now I look like some kind of smuggling mastermind (which, for the record, I am not)! <br /><br />And did I mention Connor, the dorky-hot teaching assistant with pool-blue eyes who moved in next door? <br /><br />It’s enough to drive any college senior to drink cheap wine and make snap decisions. And once I get on the Snap Decision Trainwreck… Yeah. <br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">What the…&nbsp;</div><br />As far back as I can remember, people have said I can be stubborn and hardheaded. I prefer the word passionate. <br /><br />I just do and see things my own way, which at times has created a few minor issues. But it’s me being me, not stubborn or hardheaded, just being true to myself. Passionate. In time, Mom embraced my independence, as she preferred to call it, and said I was going to make a difference in the world. <br /><br />Now, I’m wondering what kind of difference. My name is Sara Donovan. I’m a senior at the University of Alabama with an ever-decreasing chance of graduating this semester; I live in such a questionable area that you can’t go a block without running into a police cruiser, a druggie, or both; and I can’t ever seem to get anywhere on time. <br /><br />So, when I can’t even get a brand-new plug-and-play printer to play when I plugged it into my laptop, yeah, I’m thinking real hard about ditching that independent drummer of mine and taking up something else—like the glockenspiel. Otherwise, kiss graduation this Spring goodbye.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">****************************************</div><br />&nbsp;“Thanks, Dad! It’s working!” <br /><br />I look at the phone’s display. I’ve been on the phone with Dad for exactly twenty-two seconds of small talk and sixty-eight minutes of setting up my new printer. Although it’s not a personal record as far as “Tech 911” calls go, it’s definitely top five. <br /><br />“Good. Here’s your mother.” <br /><br />I hear the phone being passed, followed by grumbling fading away in the background.<br /><br />“Hi, Sara,” Mom says. <br /><br />“Hi, Mom. That was a lot of fun.”<br /><br />“Don’t worry about it. Your dad gets frustrated trying to fix computer problems over the phone. If you were here in Annapolis he would enjoy it. So, tell me about the rest of your day.” <br /><br />This Wednesday happened to be a very productive day and I fill Mom in on the tally: two Rosetta Stone French lessons completed, one computer crash; three pictures hung, two smashed fingers; six light bulbs replaced, screwdriver needed; one ten-minute walk with Mauzzy, who’s now sprawled out and snoring in his child recliner, his little dachshund legs straight up in the air; purchased glittery nail polish and removal supplies for later tonight; finished homework at Barnes &amp; Noble, just “Barnes” to us cool kids; bought color ink cartridges for the printer; and of course, the freaking printer itself.<br /><br />“Sounds like you’ve been very busy.” <br /><br />“Yep,” I say proudly, reaching into the refrigerator for a vanilla yogurt. “Not bad for going to bed at three this morning, right?”<br /><br />I close the fridge and in three steps, I’m in the living room. Dropping down on the couch, I use the laptop to bulldoze space on the coffee table for my yogurt. <br /><br />“And why was that?”<br /><br />“I started doing research for my Egyptology class project and I kinda lost track of time. And speaking of—did you read that Bugler article I sent you? I found it at the library. I know it’s like from five months ago, but both my professor and my boss were quoted in it!”<br /><br />“I did read it. My daughter keeps very impressive company! You didn’t tell me your work at the museum was so important. I thought you just worked in the gift shop.” <br /><br />“Yeah, that’s because I do.” <br /><br />“Oh, so is this—Dr. Gwynne—your boss then? He sounds very important at the museum.”<br /><br />“Well, boss might be an exaggeration. He’s a head honcho, but he’ll breeze through the gift shop or ask me what I think about the shop’s new inventory.” I eye my own latest gift shop acquisition, a colorful souvenir funeral mask sitting next to the laptop, and shove it away from its precarious perch on the table edge. “He’s a bit up in himself, but he’s done well upgrading the Dauphin’s antiquity collections so I guess I shouldn't fault him.”<br /><br />“And your professor, Sawalha! He sounds like a regular Indiana Jones!”<br /><br />“His class is by far my favorite—speaking of which, I gotta go, Mom. I have to get back on my research project. Only two months before my one-on-one presentation with Dr. Sawalha.” <br /><br />“Okay, but please don’t stay up too late. You need your sleep.”<br /><br />“Okay, Mom, I promise. Loving you.”<br /><br />“Loving you more!”<br /><br />“That’s understandable! Bye, Mom!”<br /><br />Just as I put the phone down, its Beauty and the Beast ringtone starts singing.<br /><br />I answer the call with just a glance at the display. “Hello.”<br /><br />“I believe you have something of mine.” The distorted voice was tinny, almost electronic sounding.<br /><br />“Who is this?” I quickly look at the phone display again. It just says Private. “Wait, is this JT?”<br /><br />“My dear, you have something of mine and I want it back.” <br /><br />“JT, I know it’s you. And—no, my V-card is mine, not yours, mister. Like I told you last week, last month, and all semester, you’re not getting the goodies. Just because you’re always fixing my laptop doesn’t mean you get my V-card.”<br /><br />There’s a long pause on the other side of the line.<br /><br />“My dear, I am not—JT.”<br /><br />“My dear? What’s with all these ‘my dears’? Are you back on that dorky sophisticate deal,” I shoot back. JT was a nice enough guy, but not really my type—a tad too geeky, bordering on the weird. At the beginning of the semester, I ran into JT at the Houndstooth Pub and too many tequila shots later, he ended up fixing more than just my laptop. Even though I told him the next day it was just one time, he would call every now and again to see if I had anything that needed “fixing”. <br /><br />“Pardon, perhaps this is not Sara Donovan to whom I am speaking?”<br /><br />“Perhaps it is, but you know that. C’mon JT, Mr. Wannabe-Renaissance Man, quit fooling around.” Some people just don’t quit—and JT was clearly one of those people.<br /><br />“I am not… I do not want your—V-card? You have—”<br /><br />“What else would you want besides getting in my pants?”<br /><br />Another long pause.<br /><br />“I do not want to get into your—pants. I do not want your V-card. I do not—”<br /><br />“Well then, why are you calling me yet again, JT? Drop the act, I can tell it’s you and—”<br /><br />“Stop!” the voice says, followed by a long, heavy sigh.<br /><br />“Oh, so now you’re breathing heavy into the phone? That’s just gross. I have to go. I have to get back on my research project, and you need to get back to work. I’m sure the Geek Squad is just the Squad without your presence.”<br /><br />A very long pause. No heavy breathing. No garbled voice. Just silence.<br /><br />“Hello?” I look at the phone display. He’s still there, probably hatching up another geek scheme for the goods. “JT?”<br /><br />Finally, the voice breaks the silence. “So tedious.”<br /><br />“You’re telling me!” <br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />“Hello, JT? Did I finally lose you?”<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />I stare at the phone display. He’s gone. <br /><br />“That was interesting, huh, Mauz?”<br /><br />No response, but I didn’t really expect one. He’s comatose. The perfect study buddy.<br /><br />After opening the resurgent laptop, I spend the next thirty minutes surfing the net to get more information for my Egyptology research project. The course number is CL380 but I just call it Egyptology. And what I’m finding is nuts! Private collectors and museums are willing to pay tremendous amounts of money for antiquities and primitive art. One piece, a Cycladic marble reclining figure from 2400 B.C., was sold at auction for over sixteen million dollars. Sixteen million! This stuff makes people go crazy. Even fragments of pieces—like heads broken off from statues—are sold for millions. A piece of crap Achaemenid limestone relief fragment from the 5th century B.C. sold for almost one million pounds, that’s close to two million dollars in real money. For something that’s broken! <br /><br />I pick up my new souvenir and stare at it. It’s an Egyptian funeral mask painted in gold with a big headdress, huge black oval eyes, thick arching black eyebrows, wide Dumbo-like ears, a full-lipped smirk, and very colorful necklace. It may look gaudy, but there’s something about the colors that make it pop. I put it back down. Even in the middle of a very crowded table, it stands out. And in my book, that’s a good thing. <br /><br />I’m about to click on a link about a famous statue of Queen Nefertari called the White Queen and the Master of Berlin when my phone sings. It’s Edna Martin, the Assistant Manager and my supervisor at the Dauphin Museum’s gift shop where I work on weekends.<br /><br />“Edna? Is everything alright?” I ask hesitantly.<br /><br />“Um, yes, I mean, no. Sara, I just got off the phone with Karen. She said Mrs. Bagley is quite angry. And for that matter, Karen is too. She’s blaming you for Mrs. Bagley yelling at her.”<br /><br />Karen works weekdays at the gift shop and Mrs. Bagley is a sixth-grade teacher and one of our best customers.<br /><br />I jump up out of the sofa, my left knee sending a seismic tremor through the coffee table. <br /><br />“Blaming me? Mrs. Bagley? Why—”<br /><br />“She told Karen her order was wrong. I told you she was supposed to get a funeral mask. But Karen is saying that when Mrs. Bagley got home and opened the package, it was an Anubis statue. Not a funeral mask. And she said Mrs. Bagley is adamant she needs the mask by Monday for a new Egyptian segment that she’s starting. Sara, did you put a funeral mask in Karen’s bin for Mrs. Bagley or not?" <br /><br />Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-33266920774376403472017-07-24T01:12:00.000-04:002017-07-24T01:12:57.762-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: July 24-29It's the FINAL WEEK of the Editing Round for ShoreIndie 2017! This week we're making our final push toward getting the Round 1 winners' manuscripts copy-edit ready and preparing our materials for the Judging Round. This is also our final week of Editing Round events, and we have for you two workshops, one AskAuthor chat, and four giveaways. Scroll down for details and to enter this week's giveaways.<br /><br /><i>All events are open to all writers everywhere. Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. Contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions.</i><br /><br /><b>Wednesday, July 26 - AskAuthor chat at 6pm ET</b><br />Join&nbsp; author Laura Hughes and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Laura's experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AaHQDGVXrpw/WOBHN_jgaXI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ka2_MzkRgDIrjNA0-Wokjd7dL25gNIMxACLcB/s1600/Twatvatar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AaHQDGVXrpw/WOBHN_jgaXI/AAAAAAAAAGw/ka2_MzkRgDIrjNA0-Wokjd7dL25gNIMxACLcB/s200/Twatvatar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Laura M. Hughes self-published her fiction debut – a horror/fantasy novella titled DANSE MACABRE – in October 2015. Since then, she’s written for <a href="http://fantasy-faction.com/author/laura">Fantasy-Faction</a> and <a href="http://www.tor.com/members/korladis/articles/">Tor.com</a>; during this time she’s also helped judge and promote the <a href="http://lauramhughes.com/spfbo/">Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off</a>, and in March 2017 was appointed as Fantasy-Faction’s assistant editor.<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cVG9ntaIzlA/WOBHgXf9aCI/AAAAAAAAAG0/_PA-mXUJj9gi7AA8dbdS2xYjV-N2M0UlwCLcB/s1600/Danse%2BMacabre%2BCover%2B3%2B%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cVG9ntaIzlA/WOBHgXf9aCI/AAAAAAAAAG0/_PA-mXUJj9gi7AA8dbdS2xYjV-N2M0UlwCLcB/s200/Danse%2BMacabre%2BCover%2B3%2B%25284%2529.jpg" width="125" /></a>In the ‘real’ world, Laura lives with her husband and three cats under the grey, pigeon-filled skies of northern England. When she isn’t absorbed in playing <i>Dragon Age</i> or working on her current novel, you’re most likely to find her trying to convince unsuspecting bystanders to read <i>The Malazan Book of the Fallen.</i><br /><i><br /></i>If you've any queries, or just want to talk fantasy, Laura always encourages like-minded folk to seek her out.<br /><br />Connect with Laura:&nbsp;<a href="http://lauramhughes.com/">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="https://twitter.com/HalfStrungHarp">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="https://www.facebook.com/laura.hughes.0">Facebook</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="https://instagram.com/HalfStrungHarp">Instagram</a><br /><br />Editor's Note: As a participant in the <a href="http://lauramhughes.com/spfbo/" target="_blank">Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off</a> (SPFBO), a competition designed to navigate the tricky waters of self-promotion, and as an active blogger, Laura is a great example of how authors can form community to support each other in ways that aren't sales-y. An emerging indie herself, Laura self-published her novelette, <a href="http://mybook.to/Danse-Macabre" target="_blank">DANSE MACABRE</a>, in October 2015.<br /><br /><b>Thursday, July 27 - Writing Workshop at 8pm ET</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YJP3pZWrxS0/WN_nimvgiwI/AAAAAAAABAo/kPLAd9CIdLkVyegJbb4gbQhK3-hjl_VUACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_8636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YJP3pZWrxS0/WN_nimvgiwI/AAAAAAAABAo/kPLAd9CIdLkVyegJbb4gbQhK3-hjl_VUACPcBGAYYCw/s200/IMG_8636.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>"First Line Frenzy"<br /><br />Join editor Rebecca Heyman on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for 60 minutes of workshopping the first line of your novel. <b>&nbsp;</b><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>&nbsp; </b><br /><b>Friday, July 28 - Writing Workshop at 8pm ET</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iFxN7SVbCA0/WSzrbNbu_yI/AAAAAAAABNk/150PlZCsaJkzn2uU8Oxz5Bhotcum1CPqwCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="544" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iFxN7SVbCA0/WSzrbNbu_yI/AAAAAAAABNk/150PlZCsaJkzn2uU8Oxz5Bhotcum1CPqwCPcBGAYYCw/s200/IMG_0755.JPG" width="199" /></a></div>"Your Novel's Structure"<br /><br />Join editor Sione Aeschliman on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for 60 minutes of tips and Q&amp;A about your novel's structure. Sione strongly recommends that you read her blog post "<a href="https://shoreindie.blogspot.com/2017/06/your-novels-structure.html">Your novel's structure</a>" before this workshop as a starting point.<br /><br /><br /><br /><b>This week's giveaways</b><br />These giveaways are open to everyone everywhere except where prohibited by law from 12am ET July 24th to 11:59pm ET July 29th.<br /><br />30 minutes of marketing brainstorming with <a href="http://www.livingincyn.com/" target="_blank">Cynthia T. Luna</a><br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d233" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d233/" id="rcwidget_as7stlnn" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><br /><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><a href="https://wri.tt/" target="_blank">Write!</a> distraction-free word processing software<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d234" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d234/" id="rcwidget_ourmnq2v" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KTQJRZO/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Self-Publisher's Legal Handbook</i></a> by Helen Sedwick<br />This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Helen Sedwick nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest. <br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Writing and publishing a book is a significant investment. Writers should not be losing money (and sleep) by hiring the wrong self-publishing company or getting sued for copyright infringement. <i>Self-Publisher’s Legal Handbook</i> will help writers safely navigate the legal minefield.</blockquote><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d235" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d235/" id="rcwidget_tnc069ku" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><i>&nbsp;</i><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Market-Book-Third-Writers-ebook/dp/B071NPVK28/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><i>How to Market a Book</i></a> (3rd ed., ebook) by Joanna Penn<br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a> This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Joanna Penn nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>How to Market a Book</i> is for authors who want to sell more books, but it's also for those writers who want to think like an entrepreneur and build a long-term income. It's for traditionally published authors who want to take control of their future, and for self-published authors who want to jump-start a career.<br /><br />There are short-term tactics for those who want to boost immediate sales, but the focus of the book is more about instilling values and marketing principles that will help your long-term career as a writer. </blockquote><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d236" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d236/" id="rcwidget_hp58e2dt" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><br /><br />Upcoming ShoreIndie events:<br /><ul><li>Blog post interview with ShoreIndie Judge Ember Casey (date TBD)</li><li>Round 1 Winners' revised blurbs &amp; first 5 pages posted on the website by Aug. 6</li><li>ShoreIndie 2017 Grand Prize Winner and Runner-Up announced on Twitter at noon ET on Monday, Aug. 14</li></ul><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-22975928274522998652017-07-17T00:50:00.000-04:002017-07-18T15:04:14.382-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: July 17-23Only 2 weeks left in the Editing Round. O_o How time flies! This week's events include a workshop, an AskAuthor chat, and four giveaways. Scroll down for details and to enter this week's giveaways.<br /><br /><i>All events are open to all writers everywhere. Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. Contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions.</i><br /><br /><b>Tuesday, July 18 - AskAuthor Chat at 7pm ET</b><br />Join YA author Kellie Sheridan and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Kellie's experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkWZzFoUAro/WQfi5nA66fI/AAAAAAAABGw/_DUxBZvNhxQpgbXmtx8Ezqlz4Wy8h-FkwCLcB/s1600/kellie%2Bheadshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jkWZzFoUAro/WQfi5nA66fI/AAAAAAAABGw/_DUxBZvNhxQpgbXmtx8Ezqlz4Wy8h-FkwCLcB/s200/kellie%2Bheadshot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Kellie Sheridan is a Canadian based author of YA books ranging from the zombie apocalypse to contemporary romance—while also "secretly" writing books for adults under various pen names. She has been self-publishing her work since early 2013 while also working with authors through small publishing houses or offering author services to the indie community.<br /><br />When not directly surrounding herself with books, Kellie can be found on the YA WordNerds YouTube channel, talking about books. Her favorite authors include Patricia Briggs, Anne Bishop and Rachel Vincent.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BhnAaLglbSA/WW5ZC52jn0I/AAAAAAAABQY/2ajQ5Ds53YMKAzxJY9mwEQIsv5wLxJ_dACLcBGAs/s1600/Sheridan%2BGetReviewed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="336" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BhnAaLglbSA/WW5ZC52jn0I/AAAAAAAABQY/2ajQ5Ds53YMKAzxJY9mwEQIsv5wLxJ_dACLcBGAs/s200/Sheridan%2BGetReviewed.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>Connect with Kellie: <a href="http://www.kelliesheridan.com/" target="_blank">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://twitter.com/Kellie_Sheridan" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://www.facebook.com/kelliewrites/" target="_blank">Facebook</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://www.instagram.com/snarkybird/" target="_blank">Instagram </a><br /><br />Editor's Note: Not only is Kellie is the author of several books, including two nonfiction books for writers, and anthologized stories, she is a co-founder of <a href="http://www.patchwork-press.com/" target="_blank">Patchwork Press</a>, the <a href="http://www.weapenry.com/netgalley-co-op/" target="_blank">NetGalley Co-Op</a>, and <a href="http://www.weapenry.com/" target="_blank">Weapenry</a>; a blogger and book vlogger; a book manager; and a proud ShoreIndie sponsor. Her latest book, <i>Two's Company</i> (April 2017) is the second book in the Four of a Kind series.<br /><br />Kellie has also generously agreed to run a giveaway of a 2-ebook bundle of her nonfiction books for writers, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Refilling-Your-Inkwell-Inspiration-Conquering-ebook/dp/B00WVOT8N8" target="_blank"><i>Refilling Your Inkwell</i></a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tips-Tools-Tactics-Getting-Reviewed-ebook/dp/B0108Z4CSC/" target="_blank"><i>Tips, Tools, &amp; Tactics: For Getting Your Book Reviewed</i></a>. See the Giveaways section below to enter!<br /><a name='more'></a><br /><b>Thursday, July 20 - Workshop at 8pm ET</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HBLlmTBs_IY/WN_iRPpngZI/AAAAAAAABAE/OkoVyq1ugXs_DWQVr69uHw4C69XESSRvQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Jeni%2Bsquare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HBLlmTBs_IY/WN_iRPpngZI/AAAAAAAABAE/OkoVyq1ugXs_DWQVr69uHw4C69XESSRvQCPcBGAYYCw/s200/Jeni%2Bsquare.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>"Deepening POV"<br /><br />Join editor Jeni Chappelle on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for a 60-minute workshop that will focus on writing tips to help you sink deeper into your character's POV.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>This week's giveaways</b><br />These giveaways are open to everyone everywhere except where prohibited by law from 6am ET July 17th to 11:59pm ET July 23rd.<br /><br />A 2-ebook bundle of nonfiction books for writers by Kellie Sheridan. Includes <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Refilling-Your-Inkwell-Inspiration-Conquering-ebook/dp/B00WVOT8N8" target="_blank"><i>Refilling Your Inkwell</i></a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tips-Tools-Tactics-Getting-Reviewed-ebook/dp/B0108Z4CSC/" target="_blank"><i>Tips, Tools, &amp; Tactics: For Getting Your Book Reviewed</i></a>.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d232" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d232/" id="rcwidget_6v468c1x" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br />30 minutes of marketing brainstorming with <a href="http://www.livingincyn.com/" target="_blank">Cynthia T. Luna</a> <br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d228" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d228/" id="rcwidget_ulvp1yqh" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KTQJRZO/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Self-Publisher's Legal Handbook</i></a> by Helen Sedwick<br />This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Helen Sedwick nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest. <br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Writing and publishing a book is a significant investment. Writers should not be losing money (and sleep) by hiring the wrong self-publishing company or getting sued for copyright infringement. <i>Self-Publisher’s Legal Handbook</i> will help writers safely navigate the legal minefield.</blockquote><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d229" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d229/" id="rcwidget_u6s35gb1" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script> <br /><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Supercharge-Your-Kindle-Sales-Strategies-ebook/dp/B00MMQN0VG" target="_blank">Supercharge Your Kindle Sales</a></i> by Nick Stephenson<br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a>This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Nick Stephenson nor his publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Our book launches into the world, only to get lost in a sea of other titles. <i>So, what’s missing?</i> If you want to sell ebooks on Amazon, understanding the complex inner workings of the world’s largest bookstore is an essential part of any ebook marketing plan - but it doesn't have to be as complicated as you think. [...] All the ebook marketing tips inside this book are free for you to implement – they will only cost you a few hours of your time.</blockquote><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d230" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d230/" id="rcwidget_ku5hr1a4" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script> <br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Market-Book-Third-Writers-ebook/dp/B071NPVK28/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><i>How to Market a Book</i></a> (3rd ed., ebook) by Joanna Penn<br /><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="more"></a> This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Joanna Penn nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>How to Market a Book</i> is for authors who want to sell more books, but it's also for those writers who want to think like an entrepreneur and build a long-term income. It's for traditionally published authors who want to take control of their future, and for self-published authors who want to jump-start a career.<br /><br />There are short-term tactics for those who want to boost immediate sales, but the focus of the book is more about instilling values and marketing principles that will help your long-term career as a writer. </blockquote><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d231" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d231/" id="rcwidget_9tkpq9m0" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><i>For a sneak preview of the final week of the Editing Round, see the Editing Round <a href="https://calendar.google.com/calendar/embed?src=shoreindiecontest%40gmail.com&amp;ctz=America/New_York" target="_blank">events calendar</a>, which will be updated as needed.</i>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-14130739857628832922017-07-09T11:59:00.000-04:002017-07-14T20:44:45.122-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: July 10-16It's Week 5 of the Editing Round already! This week's events for emerging indie authors include two workshops, an AskAuthor chat, and five giveaways. Scroll down for details and to enter today's giveaway.<br /><br />Note: All events are open to all writers everywhere. Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. Contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions.<br /><br /><b>Monday, July 10 - 24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Supercharge-Your-Kindle-Sales-Strategies-ebook/dp/B00MMQN0VG" target="_blank">Supercharge Your Kindle Sales</a></i> by Nick Stephenson*<br />This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 10th.<br /><a name='more'></a><br />From the book description on Amazon.com:<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Our book launches into the world, only to get lost in a sea of other titles. <i>So, what’s missing?</i> If you want to sell ebooks on Amazon, understanding the complex inner workings of the world’s largest bookstore is an essential part of any ebook marketing plan - but it doesn't have to be as complicated as you think. [...] All the ebook marketing tips inside this book are free for you to implement – they will only cost you a few hours of your time.</blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Nick Stephenson nor his publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d223" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d223/" id="rcwidget_7dn9v84f" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><b>&nbsp;</b><br /><b>Tuesday, July 11 - Workshop at 7pm ET</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z62rMZYSpJg/WN_oWVY8_gI/AAAAAAAABAs/Z61ptBzyGb8yA9Thsj-G-4EE-NyNu8CwgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Carly_BornsteinHayward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z62rMZYSpJg/WN_oWVY8_gI/AAAAAAAABAs/Z61ptBzyGb8yA9Thsj-G-4EE-NyNu8CwgCPcBGAYYCw/s200/Carly_BornsteinHayward.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>“How to Provide a Richer Emotional Connection to Your Main Character”<br />Join editor Carly Hayward on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for a 60-minute workshop that will focus on writing tips to help you create a rich emotional connection between readers and your main character.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Wednesday, July 12 - Workshop at 8pm ET</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YJP3pZWrxS0/WN_nimvgiwI/AAAAAAAABAo/kPLAd9CIdLkVyegJbb4gbQhK3-hjl_VUACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_8636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YJP3pZWrxS0/WN_nimvgiwI/AAAAAAAABAo/kPLAd9CIdLkVyegJbb4gbQhK3-hjl_VUACPcBGAYYCw/s200/IMG_8636.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>"First Line Frenzy"<br />Join editor Rebecca Heyman on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for 60 minutes of workshopping the first line of your novel.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Thursday, July 13 - 24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://wri.tt/" target="_blank">Write!</a> distraction-free word processing software<br />This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 13th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d225" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d225/" id="rcwidget_af1amlpg" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Friday, July 14 - 24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KTQJRZO/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Self-Publisher's Legal Handbook</i></a> by Helen Sedwick*<br />This giveaway is open midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 14th.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Writing and publishing a book is a significant investment. Writers should not be losing money (and sleep) by hiring the wrong self-publishing company or getting sued for copyright infringement. <i>Self-Publisher’s Legal Handbook</i> will help writers safely navigate the legal minefield.</blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Helen Sedwick nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d226" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d226/" id="rcwidget_c2r4z6n4" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Saturday, July 15 - 24-hr Giveaway</b><br />30 minutes of marketing brainstorming with <a href="http://www.livingincyn.com/" target="_blank">Cynthia T. Luna</a> <br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 15th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d224" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d224/" id="rcwidget_ze1a1959" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Sunday, July 16 - AskAuthor Chat at 7pm ET</b><br />Join romance author Kristen Strassel and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Kristen's experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--cX5t9uL2Ts/WQfqfc90GdI/AAAAAAAABH0/38YBB8nwghIa3D1AnDGsCRsUNnj7VzE0gCLcB/s1600/Kristen%2BStrassel%2BPhoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--cX5t9uL2Ts/WQfqfc90GdI/AAAAAAAABH0/38YBB8nwghIa3D1AnDGsCRsUNnj7VzE0gCLcB/s200/Kristen%2BStrassel%2BPhoto.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Kristen's writing career started one Fourth of July after a night full of hair metal and too many blueberry drinks. She had a dream about a girl trying to find her way in Las Vegas that was so vivid, she moved there so she could write her story. Later, Kristen realized that <i>Showgirls</i> was probably on in the background when she’d fallen asleep that night, but <i>Because the Night</i> was born.<br /><br />She loves mythical creatures like shifters, vampires, and musicians. Now back in the Boston area, Kristen works as a makeup artist for film and television. When she's not working, she's watching football, trying to make her house look like a Pinterest board, or planning her next adventure.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe3fgK1_gCM/WWlkZcrB93I/AAAAAAAABP8/y2E4WbwbBEoboklsni7wUUNjvPbCmORNgCLcBGAs/s1600/Fire-Dancer-FOR-WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="787" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qe3fgK1_gCM/WWlkZcrB93I/AAAAAAAABP8/y2E4WbwbBEoboklsni7wUUNjvPbCmORNgCLcBGAs/s200/Fire-Dancer-FOR-WEB.jpg" width="124" /></a></div>Connect with Kristen: <a href="http://www.kristenstrassel.com/" target="_blank">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://www.twitter.com/kristenstrassel" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://www.facebook.com/kristenstrasselauthor" target="_blank">Facebook&nbsp;</a><br /><br />Editor's Note: I met Kristen in 2012 - before she published her first book - when she was co-running a kind of writer's collective, and it has been absolutely amazing to watch her career develop. A prolific indie author since 2014, Kristen has published over a dozen paranormal romance and contemporary romance books (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B013AOYW4C" target="_blank"><i>No Strings Attached</i></a> is one of my favorites) and has had her work included in anthologies.<br /><br /><span class="a-color-base">Kristen has also generously agreed to let us run a giveaway of her paranormal romance <a href="http://www.kristenstrassel.com/books/cirque-macabre/" target="_blank">THE FIRE DANCER</a> (Cirque Macabre Book 1). This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 16th.</span> <br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d227" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d227/" id="rcwidget_l1qlz8cn" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><i>Want to know what else is coming up in the weeks ahead? See the Editing Round <a href="https://calendar.google.com/calendar/embed?src=shoreindiecontest%40gmail.com&amp;ctz=America/New_York" target="_blank">events calendar</a>, which will be updated as needed.</i>&nbsp; Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-72728948216639915422017-07-05T01:53:00.000-04:002017-07-06T22:23:04.067-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: July 3-9It's Week 4 of the Editing Round. This week's events for emerging indie authors include two AskAuthor chats and six giveaways! Scroll down for details and to enter today's giveaway.<br /><br />Note: All events are open to all writers everywhere. Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. Contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions.<br /><br /><b>Monday, July 3 - 24-hr. Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Market-Book-Third-Writers-ebook/dp/B071NPVK28/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><i>How to Market a Book</i></a> (3rd ed., ebook) by Joanna Penn*<br />This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 3rd.<br /><a name='more'></a><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>How to Market a Book</i> is for authors who want to sell more books, but it's also for those writers who want to think like an entrepreneur and build a long-term income. It's for traditionally published authors who want to take control of their future, and for self-published authors who want to jump-start a career.<br /><br />There are short-term tactics for those who want to boost immediate sales, but the focus of the book is more about instilling values and marketing principles that will help your long-term career as a writer. </blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Joanna Penn nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d217" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d217/" id="rcwidget_ycgvx1wp" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Tuesday, July 4 - No event scheduled</b><br /><br /><b>Wednesday, July 5 - 24-hr. Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KTQJRZO/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Self-Publisher's Legal Handbook</i></a> by Helen Sedwick*<br />This giveaway is open midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 5th.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Writing and publishing a book is a significant investment. Writers should not be losing money (and sleep) by hiring the wrong self-publishing company or getting sued for copyright infringement. <i>Self-Publisher’s Legal Handbook</i> will help writers safely navigate the legal minefield.</blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Helen Sedwick nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d218" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d218/" id="rcwidget_flksrwiw" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><br /><b>Thursday, July 6 - 24-hr. Giveaway</b><br /><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Supercharge-Your-Kindle-Sales-Strategies-ebook/dp/B00MMQN0VG" target="_blank">Supercharge Your Kindle Sales</a></i> by Nick Stephenson*<br />This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 6th.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Our book launches into the world, only to get lost in a sea of other titles. <i>So, what’s missing?</i> If you want to sell ebooks on Amazon, understanding the complex inner workings of the world’s largest bookstore is an essential part of any ebook marketing plan - but it doesn't have to be as complicated as you think. [...] All the ebook marketing tips inside this book are free for you to implement – they will only cost you a few hours of your time.</blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Nick Stephenson nor his publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d219" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d219/" id="rcwidget_w9tl140n" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Friday, July 7 - 24-hr. Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://wri.tt/" target="_blank">Write!</a> distraction-free word processing software<br />This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 7th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d220" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d220/" id="rcwidget_e8pcpbk6" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Saturday, July 8 - AskAuthor chat at 7pm ET </b><b>&amp; 24-hr Fiction Giveaway</b><br />Join fantasy author and ShoreIndie Judge Elise Kova and ShoreIndie editor Jeni Chappelle on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Elise's experience as a hybrid author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wE920qAfyIA/WRNuBsMZTlI/AAAAAAAABMM/HToIdLxSqb4B2zLgE4UgrDIdNKWDhkZjwCLcB/s1600/square%2Bheadshot%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wE920qAfyIA/WRNuBsMZTlI/AAAAAAAABMM/HToIdLxSqb4B2zLgE4UgrDIdNKWDhkZjwCLcB/s200/square%2Bheadshot%2B1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Elise Kova has always had a profound love of fantastical worlds. Somehow, she managed to focus on the real world long enough to graduate with a Master’s in Business Administration before crawling back under her favorite writing blanket to conceptualize her next magic system. She currently lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, and when she is not writing can be found playing video games, watching anime, or talking with readers on social media. She is the <i>USA Today</i> bestselling author of the independently published Air Awakens Series and Golden Guard Trilogy, as well as the traditionally published Loom Saga.<br /><br />Elise tweets&nbsp;<a href="https://twitter.com/EliseKova" target="_blank">@EliseKova</a>. Be sure to check out her gorgeous <a href="http://elisekova.com/" target="_blank">website</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorEliseKova/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> page, follow her <a href="https://www.instagram.com/elise.kova/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> feed, and see what people are saying about her books on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8306309.Elise_Kova" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>. <br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E4kEEhy0kDA/WPWHDjWlhjI/AAAAAAAABCY/m9AsEJXrWKQcT0jMoWpnEZ4kMIoNrktngCPcB/s1600/The%2BAlchemists%2Bof%2BLoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E4kEEhy0kDA/WPWHDjWlhjI/AAAAAAAABCY/m9AsEJXrWKQcT0jMoWpnEZ4kMIoNrktngCPcB/s200/The%2BAlchemists%2Bof%2BLoom.jpg" width="130" /></a>Editor's Note: Elise debuted in 2015 with her YA fantasy <i>Air Awakens</i>, which became a #1 Amazon bestseller in Epic Fantasy as well as YA Sword &amp; Sorcery Fantasy. Since then, she's gone on to self-publish four more books in the Air Awakens series and the three books of the Golden Guard Trilogy (YA fantasy) and has become a hybrid author by publishing the two (so far) books in the Loom Saga (A Steampunk) with <a href="http://www.priceworldpublishing.com/keymasterpress-welcome/" target="_blank">Keymaster Press</a>. A former graphic designer, Elise designs her own covers (which we LOVE): she works with an illustrator, who produces a painting, and she adds the text and formatting.<br /><br /><span class="a-color-base">Elise has also generously agreed to let us run a giveaway of THE ALCHEMISTS OF LOOM. This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 8th.</span><br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d221" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d221/" id="rcwidget_bf3xk6v4" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Sunday, July 9 - AskAuthor chat at 5pm ET</b><br />Join urban fantasy and sci-fi author Scott Burtness and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Scott's experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6QiC4L6lk0I/WNSobBh7FVI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/3maHOnfVswQ-1i7E6JHN65eiaG1wcviZgCLcB/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6QiC4L6lk0I/WNSobBh7FVI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/3maHOnfVswQ-1i7E6JHN65eiaG1wcviZgCLcB/s200/033.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>Scott Burtness lives in the Midwest with his wonderful wife, Liz. He enjoys reading horror, sci-fi, thrillers, and comedic takes on all three genres. For Scott, reading is a fun escape, a chance to live vicariously through someone else's adventures.&nbsp;He decided to start writing with the hope of entertaining readers like himself.<br /><br />Connect with Scott: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00HZO7REG" target="_blank">Amazon</a> &nbsp; <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/scott-burtness" target="_blank">BookBub</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="http://www.twitter.com/swbauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp; &nbsp;<a href="http://www.facebook.com/swbauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> &nbsp;<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/swbauthor" target="_blank">Goodreads&nbsp;</a><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vioNfyzNC7Q/WV7wGgbrCpI/AAAAAAAABPc/jXTsVSdSP8c6aMowO5NMjX9uIJDUNPIbQCLcBGAs/s1600/WisconsinVampCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vioNfyzNC7Q/WV7wGgbrCpI/AAAAAAAABPc/jXTsVSdSP8c6aMowO5NMjX9uIJDUNPIbQCLcBGAs/s200/WisconsinVampCover.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>Editor's Note: Scott published his first (hilarious!) book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HXO0WQI" target="_blank">Wisconsin Vamp</a></i>, in January 2014 and has experimented with a wide range of marketing strategies in the last three years. He also spearheaded VampireBooks4Blood, an online fundraising event for The American Red Cross and Canadian Blood Services that held in October 2014, 2015, and 2016 and is a ShoreIndie sponsor. Scott's latest book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBWDEWC" target="_blank">UNDEAD CHEESEHEAD</a>, was released in March 2017.<br /><br /><span class="a-color-base">Scott has also generously agreed to let us run a giveaway of <i>Wisconsin Vamp</i>. This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on July 9th.</span><br /><br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d222" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d222/" id="rcwidget_1e1u5nr8" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><br /><i>Want to know what else is coming up in the weeks ahead? See the Editing Round <a href="https://calendar.google.com/calendar/embed?src=shoreindiecontest%40gmail.com&amp;ctz=America/New_York" target="_blank">events calendar</a>, which will be updated as needed.</i>&nbsp; Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-29073472883395687532017-06-25T16:26:00.000-04:002017-07-24T00:51:00.777-04:00Your Novel's Structureby Sione Aeschliman<br /><br /><b>What is structure?</b><br />When we talk about the structure of a novel, we're describing <i>the order of the major plot points</i>, <i>the work that needs to be done</i> by the major plot points and between those plot points, <i>and the timing</i> of the major plot points, with the goals of ensuring that the story 1) hooks the reader, 2) sets up accurate expectations in the first fifty pages about what the story's about, 3) maintains forward momentum, and 4) delivers an appropriately intense emotional payoff.<br /><br />My approach to narrative structure is influenced primarily by the three-act structure as explained to me by my friend Diane Gilman, who wrote screenplays for many years, and by Viki King's description of the nine plot points in her book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0062730665" target="_blank"><i>How to Write a Movie in 21 Days</i></a>. <i>Influenced</i> being the operative word; what I offer here is not a simple mash-up of those two approaches but rather my own interpretation of them with modifications to fit commercial and upmarket fiction for today's readers. <br /><br /><b>Act I: The Beginning</b> <br />This is The Beginning of your story, starting on on Page 1. It introduces the novel's setting, tone, characters, and theme(s) and includes two inciting incidents: the one that happens within <a href="http://sioneaeschliman.blogspot.com/2016/05/your-first-5-pages.html" target="_blank">the first five or six pages</a>, and the one that heralds the end of Act I, around page 50.<br /><br />Yes, that's right: Act I is only 50 pages long, if that. Here's a post that discusses <a href="http://sioneaeschliman.blogspot.com/2016/09/your-first-50-pages.html" target="_blank">Act I in detail.</a><br /><br /><a name='more'></a>Some people might argue that if your book is longer than average, your first act can be longer. I would advise against that, and here's why: Act I is about hooking the reader on your story. If it takes more than 50 pages to get to your second inciting incident, that means it takes more than 50 pages for your story to get underway, and you're more likely to lose readers. If your book is longer, then your middle and/or resolution can be longer, but not, I would argue, your first act.<br /><br />On the flip side of the coin, if your book is shorter than 50K words, I'd argue that your 2nd inciting incident should come before p. 50, so Act I can certainly be shorter than 50 pages.<br /><br /><b>Act II: The Descent into Hell</b><br />This section of the novel begins with the 2nd inciting incident and ends with the Darkest Moment. The Middle of the book is about things going from bad to worse, what my friend Diane calls "dwelling in hell." It is the longest act by far and includes a series of challenges (dark moments) and victories.<br /><br />The primary purpose of each scene in Act II needs to be clearly related to the main plot and driven by your MC's goal. But it's not a clear path for your MC to their goal; they have to fight for it. They probably have to make sacrifices. There will be ups and downs along the way and multiple inducements for the MC to give up on or recommit to their goal.<br /><br />The Middle also includes a Turning Point for the MC, where they've grown enough from the events that they let go of what they thought they wanted in the beginning and articulate a new goal. If the 2nd inciting incident swept your MC up in a series of events beyond their control, there will come a point in Act II, probably around the middle of the book (and no earlier than the 50% mark), where your MC decides to take control of the situation and aim for an outcome they want. <br /><br />Act II may or may not contain your book's climax, but it definitely contains your book's <a href="http://sioneaeschliman.blogspot.com/2016/06/your-books-darkest-moment.html" target="_blank">Darkest Moment</a> (DM), and the end of the DM marks the end of Act II.<br /><br /><b>The Climax</b><br />This is the most emotionally charged moment in your story, and it shows up late in your story, either toward the end of Act II or in Act III. It can happen before the DM, in the same scene as the DM, or after the DM.<br /><br /><u>Examples</u><br /><i>The Wizard of Oz</i><br />Climax: Dorothy defeats the Wicked Witch (before the DM)<br /><br /><i>The Lord of the Rings (whole trilogy)</i> <br />Climax: Golem attacks Frodo at the same time that Aragorn et al battle Sauron's army at the Black Gates (same-ish time as the DM)<br /><br /><i>The Princess Bride</i><br />Climax: Westley, Iñigo and Fezzik storm the castle during Prince Humperdink and Buttercup's wedding, and Iñigo kills Count Rugen (post-DM, during Resolution)<i> </i><br /><br /><br /><b>Act III: The Resolution</b><br />The Resolution is about how your MC responds to the Darkest Moment. It's called the Resolution because it's here that your MC either gets what they were after or doesn't. In a book with a happy(ish) ending and a long-ish Resolution, this act has the feel of an upward climb because it's about the MC recommitting to the goal, coming up with a plan to achieve it, and carrying out that plan. <br /><br />If the climax of your book corresponds with The Resolution, this is where the MC has to triumph over their inner conflict or fatal flaw in order to be victorious over the primary conflict. In a tragedy, The Resolution is about the MC not changing enough, not changing at all, or changing too late and not achieving their goal.<br /><br />The length of your Resolution will depend on several factors, including how long your book's middle is and how much work it'll take for your MC to achieve their goal. But remember this: the Darkest Moment should come no sooner than 75% of the way through your book, which means that your Resolution should account for no more than 25% of your book. For example, if your book is 300 pages total, then your Resolution can be up to 75 pages long if you have no denouement. Generally speaking, a long Resolution works best when your story has multiple POVs and some of the characters' DMs happen within it (as is the case with <i>The Princess Bride</i>).<br /><br /><b>Act IV (optional): The Denouement</b> <br />And finally, your book may include a denouement that ties up all the loose ends and shows what the new normal looks like. This is hands-down the shortest act of the book. It's a place to wrap up any loose threads and give readers a moment to revel in the MC's victory (or mourn their defeat). It is by definition anti-climactic because it's the release after all the build-up of emotion and tension, but if it goes on very long, it starts to feel anti-climactic in a bad way.<br /><br />Everything that comes after the ring being destroyed and the fall of Sauron and his army in <i>Return of the King</i> is the denouement. And, in my opinion, it's waaaaaaaaay too long, in both the book and the movie. Yes, we want to make sure all the threads are wrapped up and we feel secure in our characters' happy ending. And because LOTR is a trilogy with one continuous story line, the denouement in <i>Return of the King</i> can absolutely be longer because it's the denouement of the entire story, not just the third book/movie. But there's Sam and Frodo being rescued by the Eagles, Frodo's recovery, Aragorn's crowning ceremony, the return to the Shire (which, in the book, contains that weird mini-adventure with Saruman and Wormtongue), and then there's Bilbo and Frodo saying goodbye and sailing off with the elves.... It just seems to drag on forever. I love you, Tolkien, but it's too much. At least for today's readers.<br /><br />In contrast, the denouements in <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> and <i>Hamlet</i> are appropriately short. In<i> Hamlet</i>, the denouement is Fortinbras's speech wherein he says, "Hey, y'all. This was really sad. But now I'm gonna take over." (I may have paraphrased that.) And in <i>The Wizard of Oz</i>, it's Dorothy waking up in bed, surrounded by friends and family and saying, "And you were there, and you, and you!" and "There's no place like home!" and really that's it.<br /><br />Do you need a denouement? You do if there are still loose ends after the Resolution or if for other reasons the story doesn't feel complete after the Resolution. A denouement is also useful if you want to leave readers on a different emotional note than the one they're on at the end of the Resolution and/or if your book is a first-in-series and you want to hint at the next book's primary external conflict.<br /><br /><b>A couple of caveats</b><br />I'm incredibly wary of anything prescriptive, especially when it comes to a creative endeavor. There are no hard-and-fast rules in fiction writing. Having a philosophy for structure is helpful in identifying what's not working, but that doesn't mean that a novel will only work when it follows this structure.&nbsp; <br /><br />It's also important to note that the structure is pretty flexible in some places. For example, I don't believe there's a particular Right Place for the MC's Turning Point. If your MC is particularly stubborn, I could even see it coming in Act III and still being relevant, so long as there's appropriate challenge and conflict all throughout Act II. (Example: Han Solo's turning point doesn't happen until the Act III climax of <i>A New Hope</i>, when he shows up out of the blue just after the DM to help them take out the Death Star.) As discussed above, the placement of your book's climax is also very flexible.<br /><br />That said, there are a few guidelines that I *do* treat as hard-and-fast rules because I think they provide a really important structure for pacing: the 2nd inciting incident needs to come before or on p. 50, the Turning Point can't come before the 50% mark (because otherwise it seems too easy), and the Darkest Moment has to wait until you're at least 75% of the way through the story (because otherwise there isn't sufficient emotional build-up). I fight hard for these beats in my own books and when editing client work.<br /><br />Last but certainly not least, I think it's important to establish <i>when</i> it's appropriate to think about structure (and when it isn't). Appropriate: in the planning phase of writing a novel and during editing. NOT appropriate: during drafting. As <a href="https://twitter.com/azpascoe" target="_blank">Ana Pascoe</a> writes in her blog post "<a href="http://azpascoe.com/?p=290" target="_blank">The Pressure Cooker of Advice</a>," if I try to keep All The Things in mind when I sit down to create, I become overwhelmed by the pressures and shut down. It's what Diane Gilman, in her forthcoming nonfiction book tentatively titled <i>How to Not Write a Book</i>, talks about in terms of barriers: all those rules for good writing and good storytelling become barriers between ourselves and the page. I've done this to myself too many times to count. So long story short: I don't think about structure while I'm writing. But I do use the concepts during the planning phase to help me think about whether I have enough conflict and what needs to happen roughly when. In the editing phase, both of my own and of clients' work, I lean heavily on my understanding of structure to figure out pacing of the plot and characters arcs.<br /><br /><b>Other resources on novel structure</b><br />After my post about the Darkest Moment, a client also mentioned Larry Brooks's take on plot structure in his book <a href="http://storyfix.com/books-by-brooks" target="_blank"><i>Story Engineering</i></a>. Following that trail led me to author Jami Gold's website, where she has created and made available several different <a href="http://jamigold.com/for-writers/worksheets-for-writers/" target="_blank">plot beat sheets</a>, including ones based on Brooks's approach and on Gold's own. I also have clients who have found Joseph Campbell's <a href="http://www.thewritersjourney.com/hero%27s_journey.htm" target="_blank">The Hero's Journey</a> helpful in thinking about major plot points.<br /><br /><i><b>Have questions about your own novel's structure? Join Sione on Friday, July 28th at 8pm on Twitter's #ShoreIndie hashtag for a 60-minute workshop on "Your Novel's Structure."</b></i><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F0ah3ktk8B8/VA53yxHk0uI/AAAAAAAAAd4/hoyE4SIvcWYCXajrBlOf3p8ZNdbrBD3QgCPcB/s1600/IMG_0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F0ah3ktk8B8/VA53yxHk0uI/AAAAAAAAAd4/hoyE4SIvcWYCXajrBlOf3p8ZNdbrBD3QgCPcB/s200/IMG_0755.JPG" width="199" /></a><b>Sione Aeschliman</b> (pronounced see-OWN ASH-lemon) is an editor and writing coach with a Master's degree in English and over fourteen years of editing experience. Since becoming a full-time freelance editor in 2012, she’s had the honor of working with authors from several countries on a wide variety of fiction and nonfiction projects. Last year she was an editor in the Pitch to Publication Twitter contest and faculty at the inaugural The Work Conference in New York City. This year she’s a #RevPit editor, creator of the ShoreIndie contest, co-editor of an anthology of floating-inspired prose and poetry for Coincidence Control Publishing, and teacher of genre fiction writing at the Show:Tell Workshop for Teen Writers and Artists.<br /><br />Under her own name Sione writes prose and poetry (and prose poetry) about dusty heart-drawers and being chased by nunchuck-wielding ducks. Under pseudonym she is the indie author of seven books published in the last five years.<br /><br />Although she lives in Portland, Oregon, she does not own a bicycle and is woefully underprepared for the zombie apocalypse, but her adorkable dog, Milton, is an Expert Urban Forager. Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-31884504203868074212017-06-25T14:09:00.001-04:002017-06-27T12:52:30.217-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: June 26-July 2It's Week 3 of the Editing Round. This week's events, targeted at emerging indie authors, include two AskAuthor chats and five giveaways! Scroll down for details and to enter today's giveaway.<br /><br /><i>Please note: </i><i><i>Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. </i>While the majority of our giveaways are open to the entire ShoreIndie community, one of this week's giveaways is only open to authors who submitted to the contest. All other events are open to all writers everywhere. Contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions.</i><br /><br /><b>Monday, June 26 - AskAuthor Chat at 6pm ET </b><br />Join science fiction and fantasy author Ruthanne Reid and ShoreIndie editor Jeni Chappelle on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Ruthanne's experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vTEe_sE7zxU/WM2h76Ja-qI/AAAAAAAAA7o/O9aqnXTB85c0i6ij3stwHsGk1f2asvaKwCPcB/s1600/ruthanne_reid_2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vTEe_sE7zxU/WM2h76Ja-qI/AAAAAAAAA7o/O9aqnXTB85c0i6ij3stwHsGk1f2asvaKwCPcB/s200/ruthanne_reid_2016.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>When Ruthanne Reid was a child, her friends were imaginary. Being an adult meant writing them down and introducing them to other people.<br /><br />Proudly self-published since 2014, she's led convention panels on world-building and taught writing classes on finding the writer's voice. Her blog posts are shared by real live people, and her Twitter following is a pretty darned fun one.<br /><br />Ruthanne has lived on both US coasts but currently dwells somewhere in the middle, loathing the hot summers and avoiding cholla cactuses. In the meantime, she writes a lot while dealing with Potential Multiple Sclerosis (or fibromyalgia or something) and looking way cute in cotton hospital duds. She's happily married, is owned by two cats, and has little else to say in a third-person format.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5FPC-8XOztM/WM2jtBnFtyI/AAAAAAAAA70/ObdNu0G-cQQkCi4SSDGkPv0TabjsVPakwCPcB/s1600/half-shell-half.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5FPC-8XOztM/WM2jtBnFtyI/AAAAAAAAA70/ObdNu0G-cQQkCi4SSDGkPv0TabjsVPakwCPcB/s200/half-shell-half.png" width="121" /></a></div>To learn more (and begin an ordinary conversation), subscribe to her free email newsletter or send her an email.<br /><br />Connect with Ruthanne:&nbsp; <a href="http://ruthannereid.com/" target="_blank">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://twitter.com/ruthannereid" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://facebook.com/mythos" target="_blank">Facebook</a><br /><br />Editor's Note: I fell in love with Ruthanne's eerie scifi novel <i><a href="http://ruthannereid.com/books/the-sundered/" target="_blank">The Sundered</a></i> a few years ago and asked her to write a guest post on <a href="http://sioneaeschliman.blogspot.com/2015/01/ruthanne-reid-defines-success.html" target="_blank">her definition of success as a writer</a>. So when I started thinking about indie authors I wanted to invite to join ShoreIndie, hers was one of the first names that came to mind. Five days after the official launch of her latest book, <a href="http://tiny.cc/KatieSavesHerself" target="_blank">HALF-SHELL PROPHECIES</a> (March 2017), it already had 26 reviews (and a 4.8-star overall rating).<br /><br />Ruthanne has also generously agreed to let us run a giveaway of three ebook copies and one paperback copy of HALF-SHELL PROPHECIES! This giveaways is open to all readers internationally, except where prohibited by law, and closes at 11:59pm on June 26th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d215" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d215/" id="rcwidget_mtko42tn" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Tuesday, June 27 - 24-hour Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KTQJRZO/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&amp;btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Self-Publisher's Legal Handbook</i></a> by Helen Sedwick*<br />This giveaway is open <u>exclusively</u> to authors who submitted to the 2017 ShoreIndie Contest. It is open midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 27th.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com: <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">Writing and publishing a book is a significant investment. Writers should not be losing money (and sleep) by hiring the wrong self-publishing company or getting sued for copyright infringement. Self-Publisher’s Legal Handbook will help writers safely navigate the legal minefield.</blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Helen Sedwick nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d212" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d212/" id="rcwidget_m90itxfy" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Wednesday, June 28 - 24-hour Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Market-Book-Third-Writers-ebook/dp/B071NPVK28/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><i>How to Market a Book</i></a> (3rd ed., ebook) by Joanna Penn*<br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 28th.<br /><br />From the book description on Amazon.com:&nbsp; <br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">How to Market a Book is for authors who want to sell more books, but it's also for those writers who want to think like an entrepreneur and build a long-term income. It's for traditionally published authors who want to take control of their future, and for self-published authors who want to jump-start a career.<br /><br />There are short-term tactics for those who want to boost immediate sales, but the focus of the book is more about instilling values and marketing principles that will help your long-term career as a writer. </blockquote>*This giveaway is run by the ShoreIndie Contest. Neither Joanna Penn nor her publisher are in any way affiliated with this contest.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d213" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d213/" id="rcwidget_1m6hplad" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Thursday, June 29 - 24-hour Giveaway</b><br />30 minutes of marketing brainstorming with <a href="http://www.livingincyn.com/" target="_blank">Cynthia T. Luna</a> <br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 29th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d214" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d214/" id="rcwidget_l7kxeb0g" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Friday, June 30 - AskAuthor Chat at 5pm ET</b><br />Join mystery author and ShoreIndie Judge Bill Cameron and ShoreIndie editor Carly Hayward on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag for a conversation about Bill's experience as a hybrid author. All are welcome to join the conversation and ask questions!<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qTpOazB3TuE/WRISaotfZUI/AAAAAAAABLU/cUrNyUBuSXQ2m4yQyfJVPfqZzAAJ9xMUwCLcB/s1600/bill-cameron_author.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qTpOazB3TuE/WRISaotfZUI/AAAAAAAABLU/cUrNyUBuSXQ2m4yQyfJVPfqZzAAJ9xMUwCLcB/s320/bill-cameron_author.jpg" width="213" /></a>Critically-acclaimed mystery author Bill Cameron is the author of the dark, gritty mysteries <i>County Line, Day One, Chasing Smoke</i> and <i>Lost Dog</i>—featuring irascible Portland homicide cop Skin Kadash. His first young adult mystery <i>Property of the State</i>, introducing troubled yet resourceful Joey Getchie, was named one of <i>Kirkus Reviews</i> Best Books of 2016: Teen.<br /><br />In 2012, County Line won the Spotted Owl Award for Best Northwest Mystery. <i>Lost Dog</i> was nominated for the 2008 Rocky Award and was a finalist for the 2008 Spotted Owl Award. His short story, “The Princess of Felony Flats,” was nominated for a 2011 CWA Short Story Dagger Award. Bill’s short fiction has appeared in <i>Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Portland Noir, Murder at the Beach, Killer Year</i>, and <i>First Thrills</i>.<br /><br />Bill lives with his wife in Oregon. He is an eager traveler and avid bird-watcher, and likes to write near a window so he can meditate on whatever happens to fly by during intractable passages. He is currently at work on the first in an adult mystery series set in central Oregon.<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-enk2kXTs6tw/WRISrGBUUoI/AAAAAAAABLY/MVw0o1UHxwM1i0kGjIEIPY0oTYPJCDUiACLcB/s1600/Property_of_the_State_cover_Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-enk2kXTs6tw/WRISrGBUUoI/AAAAAAAABLY/MVw0o1UHxwM1i0kGjIEIPY0oTYPJCDUiACLcB/s200/Property_of_the_State_cover_Final.jpg" width="125" /></a>Bill tweets&nbsp;<a href="http://twitter.com/bcmystery" target="_blank">@bcmystery</a>. Be sure to check out his website, <a href="http://www.bill-cameron.com/">www.bill-cameron.com</a>.<span class="a-color-base">&nbsp;</span> <br /><br />Editor's Note: A hybrid author of adult and young adult mystery novels, Bill also writes short fiction, some of which has been included in anthologies edited by Lee Child (yes, THAT Lee Child - <span class="a-color-base">the bestselling author of the Jack Reacher thrillers). </span><span class="a-color-base">We recommend checking out the <a href="http://www.sentencetoparagraph.org/2016/10/10/inaugural-interview-with-bill-cameron/" target="_blank">interview</a> Bill did with Sentence to Paragraph about his latest book, <i>Property of the State</i> </span><span class="a-color-base"><span class="a-color-base">(2016, Poisoned Pen Press), </span>for an engaging discussion about how to capture the modern teen voice and writing about social issues without the book becoming a polemic.</span><br /><br /><span class="a-color-base">Bill has also generously agreed to let us run a giveaway of PROPERTY OF THE STATE. One lucky winner will win either an ebook (open internationally) or a paperback (open to US &amp; Canada residents only) of his YA mystery. This giveaway is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 30th.</span><br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d216" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d216/" id="rcwidget_qhipkin8" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><i>Want to know what's coming up in the weeks ahead? See the Editing Round <a href="https://calendar.google.com/calendar/embed?src=shoreindiecontest%40gmail.com&amp;ctz=America/New_York" target="_blank">events calendar</a>, which will be updated as needed.</i>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-67388726869747641432017-06-18T14:19:00.000-04:002017-06-20T17:32:54.167-04:00This week in ShoreIndie: June 19-25It's Week 2 of the Editing Round, and we have another full week of events planned, including two AskAuthor chats, a live writing tips broadcast, a writing workshop, and five giveaways! See below for details, and don't hesitate to contact us on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/shoreindie" target="_blank">@ShoreIndie</a> with questions. <br /><br /><i>Please note: While the majority of our giveaways are open to the entire ShoreIndie community, some of this week's giveaways are only open to authors who submitted to the contest. Giveaway winners will be announced on Twitter the day after the giveaway ends. All other events are open to all writers everywhere.</i><br /><i><br /></i><b>Monday, June 19 - 24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Supercharge-Your-Kindle-Sales-Strategies-ebook/dp/B00MMQN0VG" target="_blank">Supercharge Your Kindle Sales</a></i> by Nick Stephenson<br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 19th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d27" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d27/" id="rcwidget_3f7seufk" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Tuesday, June 20 - AskAuthor chat and Live Writing Tips Broadcast </b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><i>AskAuthor with Caitlin Jones at 3pm ET</i> <br />Join YA gothic horror author Caitlin Jones and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag as Caitlin answers your questions about her experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0WWj-93tAwM/WQfuZhClKhI/AAAAAAAABIM/yTcTDqFp0nY3fnl-wOQqRzVga9TJOVNfQCLcB/s1600/Caitlin%2BJones%2Bheadshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0WWj-93tAwM/WQfuZhClKhI/AAAAAAAABIM/yTcTDqFp0nY3fnl-wOQqRzVga9TJOVNfQCLcB/s200/Caitlin%2BJones%2Bheadshot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Caitlin E. Jones is an author, freelance editor, and lover of all things dark and fantastic. A homeschooled student through most of her young life, she was raised in South Louisiana, where the myths still roam wild, and colorful characters roam wilder still. She chose writing as her profession shortly after realizing that joining the circus and being a princess were not viable options. Now, having been indie published and worked alongside publishers in Berlin for two years, she works to highlight everything that makes indie writing great.<br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHPYY7XHjbQ/WQfukJseQEI/AAAAAAAABIQ/dMkGOsC8wG8zdfQRkYns8djz4O44r4GWwCLcB/s1600/The%2BSpectre%2Band%2Bthe%2BGoverness%2BOfficial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHPYY7XHjbQ/WQfukJseQEI/AAAAAAAABIQ/dMkGOsC8wG8zdfQRkYns8djz4O44r4GWwCLcB/s320/The%2BSpectre%2Band%2Bthe%2BGoverness%2BOfficial.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /><span lang="EN-AU">She is the project founder behind Academia: Discussions and Blog and currently in pursuit of an English BA with a concentration in folklore. Her hobbies include film editing, procrastination baking, and cosplay.</span> <br /><br />Connect with Caitlin: <a href="http://www.caitlinejonesauthor.com/" target="_blank">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://twitter.com/HistoireLolita" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://www.facebook.com/caitlinejonesauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="https://faireladypenumbra.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Tumblr</a><br /><br />Editor's Note: When I reached out to Caitlin, she had recently publisher her first book, THE SPECTRE AND THE GOVERNESS (March 2017), and I was impressed with the rave reviews and the book's high rankings at that early stage. Caitlin also blogs about writing on her website; <a href="http://www.caitlinejonesauthor.com/blog/stories-in-our-darkness-on-a-war-with-pstd" target="_blank">this post</a> about the relationship between anxiety and writing particularly caught my eye.<br /><br />In honor of her ShoreIndie AskAuthor chat, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XKMXQWC" target="_blank">THE SPECTRE AND THE GOVERNESS</a> is free to download all week!<br /><br /><i>Live Broadcast with Elise Kova and Rebecca Heyman at 8pm ET</i> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Join ShoreIndie Judge Elise Kova and ShoreIndie editor Rebecca Heyman as they share their Top 5 Tips for Self-Editing via a live broadcast on YouTube!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/J78l1R2TXSs/default_live.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/J78l1R2TXSs?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br /><b>Wednesday, June 21 - </b><b>24-hr Giveaway</b><br />30 minutes of marketing brainstorming with <a href="http://www.livingincyn.com/" target="_blank">Cynthia T. Luna</a> <br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 21st.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d28" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d28/" id="rcwidget_85mzdbq5" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Thursday, June 22 - Workshop at 3pm ET</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4mglN0lH7I/WN_jwDHZBdI/AAAAAAAABAQ/2RHHkCxTGWQRU0WJ9nd6dxn9f9lhysgCgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Katie%2BApril%2B2016%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u4mglN0lH7I/WN_jwDHZBdI/AAAAAAAABAQ/2RHHkCxTGWQRU0WJ9nd6dxn9f9lhysgCgCPcBGAYYCw/s200/Katie%2BApril%2B2016%2B1%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>"Between the Lines: What Your Dialogue Scenes are Really Saying"<br />Join editor Katie McCoach on the #ShoreIndie hashtag for a 60-minute workshop that will focus on adding action/showing around dialogue to further develop a dialogue scene. All authors welcome.<br /><br /><br /><b>Friday, June 23 - </b><b>24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://wri.tt/" target="_blank">Write!</a> distraction-free word processing software<br />This giveaway is open to the entire ShoreIndie community from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 23rd.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d29" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d29/" id="rcwidget_xycw2iya" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Saturday, June 24 - </b><b>24-hr Giveaway</b><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Market-Book-Third-Writers-ebook/dp/B071NPVK28/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><i>How to Market a Book</i></a> (3rd ed., ebook) by Joanna Penn<br />This giveaway is open exclusively to authors who submitted to the 2017 ShoreIndie Contest. It is open midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 24th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d210" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d210/" id="rcwidget_13l16poi" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br /><b>Sunday, June 25 - AskAuthor chat at 7pm ET &amp; 24-hr Fiction Giveaway</b><br />Join fantasy author Rob Nugent and ShoreIndie editor Sione Aeschliman on Twitter's #AskAuthor hashtag as Rob answers your questions about his experience as an indie author. All are welcome to join the conversation!<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qyfvpJGhuPo/WQfvexwVujI/AAAAAAAABIY/P9962feeGdAgDz_o28Vb1_ik4qD3U7UOgCLcB/s1600/Rob%2BNugent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qyfvpJGhuPo/WQfvexwVujI/AAAAAAAABIY/P9962feeGdAgDz_o28Vb1_ik4qD3U7UOgCLcB/s200/Rob%2BNugent.jpg" width="200" /></a>Rob Nugent is a medieval low-fantasy author from the American Midwest. Inspired by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien as a child, Rob set a course that would take him from countless fantasy universes to delving deep into medieval studies. It is Rob’s firm belief that a medieval fantasy work is not only defined by its story, but by the immersive world in which it takes place. <br /><br />Rob’s first self-published release was in 2015 with <i>The Fallen Banner: Part I of the Chronicles of Aerothos</i>. It is Rob’s goal to create various series within the world of Aerothos, bringing to life its bloody, intrigue-fueled history and countless tales. <br /><br />Aside from writing, Rob is an avid musician, medieval reenactor, and live-action role-playing enthusiast.<br /><br />Connect with Rob: <a href="http://www.robertfnugent.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Website</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://www.twitter.com/Rob_ismyname" target="_blank">Twitter</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://www.facebook.com/robertfnugent" target="_blank">Facebook</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; <a href="http://www.instagram.com/robbnugent" target="_blank">Instagram </a><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mz1RuYSLcZc/WUbD5byLwQI/AAAAAAAABO4/cPXdSnEc7zQ0VkE2EnZycWQg_pCl6qd1QCLcBGAs/s1600/Knights%2Bcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mz1RuYSLcZc/WUbD5byLwQI/AAAAAAAABO4/cPXdSnEc7zQ0VkE2EnZycWQg_pCl6qd1QCLcBGAs/s320/Knights%2Bcover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Editor's Note: Rob is another emerging indie author I invited to join ShoreIndie because I was impressed with the sales ranking and rave reviews of his first book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B019M9IVBE" target="_blank">The Fallen Banner</a></i> (December 2015). He recently released his second book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tales-Aerothos-Knights-Robert-Nugent/dp/1521362270/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1497808464&amp;sr=1-1-catcorr&amp;keywords=tales+of+aerothos" target="_blank">TALES OF AEROTHOS: KNIGHTS OF THE WOLF</a>. Rob has a lot to say about the self-publishing experience and is excited to talk with authors who are asking themselves the same questions he asked when he was making his decision to self-publish.<br /><br />Rob has also generously agreed to let us give away three (3) paperback copies of TALES OF AEROTHOS: KNIGHTS OF THE WOLF. Woo hoo! <u>Anyone can enter</u> this giveaway. It is open from midnight to 11:59pm ET on June 25th.<br /><br /><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="128629d211" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/128629d211/" id="rcwidget_hi64qf1y" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-38124222779885525662017-06-17T18:00:00.000-04:002017-06-17T18:00:06.941-04:00Round 1 Showcase - Mo ParisianTitle: A MOTHER'S GUIDE TO LIVING<br />Category/genre: Adult Women's Fiction<br />Author: Mo Parisian<br />Chosen by editor Katie McCoach<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />To say that life isn’t going as expected for Grace Foster, is a massive understatement. After a brief but explosive meeting with her boss, Grace flees for the last place she thought she’d ever find solace: her mother’s home. A beautiful home on the shore of Lake Michigan appears to be the perfect hideout, or is it the same battle ground she left ten years ago? <br /><br />Julia Dunham, Grace’s mother and best-selling self-help author, has never understood her daughter’s stubbornness but is hopeful they can mend their strained relationship. Armed with a newfound appreciation for her mom, Grace begins to follow the steps in her mother’s latest best-seller to rebuild her life. Will what she learns give her the courage to let go of the past and move forward? Or will running become what her life is really about?<br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Part One <b><br /></b><br /><i>"Every ending is also a beginning.&nbsp; We just don't know it at the time.<br />~Mitch Albom</i><br /><br />Chapter One</div><br /><i>I've had such a strange feeling about you lately.</i><br /><br />These are the words rolling through my head as I finish up my third mile.&nbsp; <br /><br />She didn’t call to nag, but this is precisely what it feels like after my mom phoned this morning.<br /><br />My mother, bestselling self-help author of eight books, including <i>A Mother's Guide to Living</i>, has always believed in Tarot readings, healing beach walks, and a nine-year cycle of life.&nbsp; <br /><br />I have always believed in reality.<br /><br />Since I was a little girl, I have always known that hard work and a good attitude will get you farther than wishing something to be true.&nbsp; Simple as that. Your life is exactly what you've made it, and failing to plan is planning to fail. <br /><br />When my mom called me this morning just to "check in" because she had a funny feeling, I quickly dismissed her.&nbsp; She rarely called to check in, and we've always had this understanding that my life was about my ability to control my surroundings and not her pop-fluff theories.&nbsp; I never bought into it, even when I would hear stories about how she had changed someone's life.&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br />If only I could get her out of my head now.<br /><br />My run was slower than usual, and I needed to finish up since my boss had texted and asked me to come in early.&nbsp; I was already ten minutes behind in my mind, and being late is never an option.&nbsp; <br /><br />My husband Andrew left long before I got up, and I was ticked my morning was cut short.&nbsp; He was a high school Biology teacher and left the house by seven every morning so he could get to school for students needing extra help.&nbsp; On the weekends, he still got up and went for a run at that time.&nbsp; <br />I worked the late shift at WKND as the weeknight news producer and rarely saw the clock that early in the morning.&nbsp; We were an NBC affiliate, and I loved my job and the people I worked with.&nbsp; It was fast paced, high-energy, and demanding.&nbsp; Andrew often joked that my job was perfectly suited to me, since that's how he would describe me.&nbsp; <br /><br />We met in college, Michigan State University, both coming from small northern towns in Michigan.&nbsp; We loved East Lansing so much we decided to stay after we got married, while Andrew continued on to get his Masters.&nbsp; My first job at WKND as a copywriter, didn't pay well, but it was enough to cover the bills and a small studio apartment.&nbsp; Somehow I always knew life would work out for us.&nbsp; We each had a five year plan that included our career goals.&nbsp; Kids weren't on the list yet, but lately I had to admit my clock was starting to tick at twenty-eight.&nbsp; Maybe it was because all of my friends were starting to have families, and I envied them just a bit.<br /><br />Tim, my manager, was standing at the desk chatting with Sherry when I finally rushed through the reception area.&nbsp; <br /><br />"Hey, Gracie," He said, looking at his watch.&nbsp; "You were fast getting here."&nbsp; <br /><br />"Well, you made it sound important,” I said.&nbsp; A look of dread masked his face as I talked.&nbsp; <i>I'm getting fired</i>, I thought to myself.&nbsp; <i>What the hell is going on?</i><br /><br />"Well, let's head back to my office," he said, glancing at Sherry who also had a grim look on her face.&nbsp; "There's a couple things we need to go over in private."<br /><br />My mind raced to past mistakes and ratings.&nbsp; It was always about the fucking ratings.&nbsp; We had been in the second spot for the past year.&nbsp; Sure we dropped a bit, but we were way ahead of the ABC and Fox news stations.&nbsp; <br /><br />He closed the door behind me, telling me to have a seat.&nbsp; My heart couldn't stop racing, and I thought I was going to throw up.&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br />"Well, I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," He started.&nbsp; "I really don't know how to tell you this, so I am just going to spit it out."<br /><br />Tim had been not only my boss, but my friend.&nbsp; He was the one person here that has had my back from day one, even when I made countless mistakes at the beginning.&nbsp; He taught me what the anchors wanted in copy, what the producers wanted from a piece, and helped me put it all together.&nbsp; He also looked like he was going to throw up.<br /><br />"Can I ask what I did?"&nbsp; I figured I'd make it easier on him at this point.<br /><br />He looked at me confused, "What you did?&nbsp; What do you mean?"<br /><br />"Well, it feels like you're firing me, and I can't figure out why," I said.<br /><br />His face relaxed for a moment, "Gracie, I'm not going to fire you.&nbsp; But something has come up, and I wanted to give you a head's up on a story we're running tonight."<br /><br />A story?&nbsp; Why all this secrecy about a story? <br /><br />"Okay, shoot.&nbsp; I'm in the mood for something big."<br /><br />He shifted in his seat and stared at his desk calendar.&nbsp; "Well, it seems that we have several sources for a story at Patterson High School."<br /><br />“What is it?"&nbsp; My excitement kicked in.&nbsp; Andrew worked at Patterson, and not only was this going to be a good story, but it sounded like I was getting a first hand at the gossip.&nbsp; Andrew loved that.<br /><br />"Ah, Jesus, Gracie," he sighed.&nbsp; "There are, uh, several young girls accusing one of the teachers of sexual misconduct."<br /><br />"Ha!&nbsp; I knew it!&nbsp; It's Peter Markson isn't it?"&nbsp; My heart was racing again, but in a good way.&nbsp; I wanted to get over there and look into this. <br /><br />"Uh, no Gracie.&nbsp; Actually, Andrew has been named as the offender."&nbsp; He looked me in the eye for the first time since he sat down.<br /><br />"Wait," I said, trying to process it.&nbsp; "<i>What?</i>&nbsp; Andrew is accusing girls?"<br /><br />He looked down again.&nbsp; "No, Grace, the girls are accusing him.&nbsp; One has even claimed they've had an affair for a year and she's pregnant.&nbsp; That's how this story broke."<br /><br />"Please tell me this is a joke," I whispered.<br /><br />He walked around his desk and sat next to me, "Oh Grace, I wish it were, but it's going to be the lead story on every news locally and will most likely be picked up nationally by Friday. From what I've heard, this is going to be another Letourneau, and I can't believe I have to be the one to tell you this." <br />The room began to spin.&nbsp; I didn't want to be here, and have him look at me with so much pity.&nbsp; A chill ran through me when I realized that everyone I knew would hear this story by tonight.<br /><br />"What the fuck,"&nbsp; I said, bewildered.&nbsp; "What the hell am I supposed to do?"<br /><br />He shook his head, sad eyes looking at me, and I wanted to smack them out of his head.&nbsp; "Why don't you take a day, a week even, to figure out what is going on," he said.&nbsp; "This is still just information from the students.&nbsp; No one has heard Andrew's side of the story, yet."&nbsp; <br /><br />"Have you tried to contact him at all?"<br /><br />"I found out yesterday afternoon, and have left three voicemails and sent two texts," he said standing.&nbsp; "He's not responding."&nbsp; <br /><br />Thinking back to last night, I tried to remember if he was different.&nbsp; The funny thing was, nothing seemed out of the ordinary when I came home.&nbsp; He was watching TV, the Late Show, his hand propped up behind his head as usual.&nbsp; I asked how his day was, he said uneventful, and quickly rolled over&nbsp; when I got into bed.&nbsp; I just figured he'd had a long day and needed some sleep.&nbsp; <br /><br />He was gone when I got up.<br /><br />"What the <i>hell</i>," I shouted this time.&nbsp; I stood and started to pace.&nbsp; What was I going to do?&nbsp; I pulled out my cell and called him.&nbsp; "I'll get to the bottom of this."&nbsp; Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-60153736198982433162017-06-17T06:00:00.000-04:002017-06-17T06:00:09.498-04:00Round 1 Showcase - J.E. PurazziTitle: MALFUNCTION<br />Category/genre: Adult Sci-Fi Dystopian Biopunk<br />Author: J.E. Purazzi<br />Chosen by editor Sione Aeschliman<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />They say the ends justify the means. <br /><br />Bastille has been raised a weapon, denied any humanity. The product of gene editing and bionic augmentation, he was built to be the last defense against an alien predator that drove humanity underground. Three years after Cowl Coven helped Bas escape, he is beginning to understand what it means to be free, but as long as he is safe everyone else is in danger. <br /><br />When Menrva, a geneticist from the subterranean city of Bunker responds to a call for help, she makes a vital mistake, making all three of them targets. Their desperate fight for survival turns into something else when a new threat appears and they alone stand between humanity and extinction.<br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter One: Comeback <b><br /></b></div><br />Menrva leaned over the touch screen on her work surface and tried to ignore the diminutive woman that hovered over her shoulder. “Mom, we aren’t on speaking terms.”<br /><br />“So who am I supposed to talk to about these samples?” Leslie Abella said.<br /><br />Menrva frowned and turned away from her work. That was the problem with being a workaholic: other workaholics were assholes. If she stayed late, she could avoid people on their rush home. The subterranean city’s narrow hallways would be completely clogged right after the work day, before everyone plugged into their virtual reality simulations for a much needed distraction. With even an extra hour of work most of Bunker’s civilians would be tucked safely into their pods and she could avoid the accusatory looks and whispers.<br /><br />“You are welcome to give me any samples you need to, but I don’t want to socialize,” Menrva said, snatching the vial from her mother’s manicured nails.<br /><br />Strangers often confused the two of them as twins, a fact that Menrva despised and did whatever she could to contradict. Leslie almost looked younger than her. Her skin was clean and smooth, only slightly&nbsp; wrinkled around her constant frown. Her lab coat lay in crisp, perfect white lines over her hourglass figure. Menrva, on the other hand, hadn’t ironed her lab coat in days...or washed it. She had dyed her hair blue and it was a continual mess of tangled braids and natural curls. Leslie hated it. All the better.<br /><br />“I thought I taught you to be polite,” Leslie said.<br /><br />“You didn’t teach me anything, Mother.” Menrva twisted the vial in her hand and studied the contents. “Wrecker?”<br /><br />“That is your area of study, isn’t it? Of course, I might be wrong since apparently I’m not allowed to have any real information about my only daughter’s life.”<br /><br />Menrva sighed. Guilt trip, that had never been Leslie’s strong suit. She was too capable to warrant pity.<br /><br />“What am I looking for?” <br /><br />“I need more on the stem cells in this sample. This isn’t all Wrecker though, it’s something...different.”<br /><br />Leslie also worked specifically with the Wrecker’s. The aliens produced an unheard of amount of stem cells. Leslie had pioneered a method of combining the stem cells with iron to produce what they called “Live Metal”. The material could expand itself, growing like biological matter. With the addition of nano computers the progress could be programmed, making it useful for endless applications.<br /><br />“Be specific, I can’t work with ‘different’,” Menrva said, raising an eyebrow at her mother.<br /><br />Leslie smoothed her hands over her lab coat and turned to walk through the enclosed lab. The workstations were now empty, leaving only blinking machinery and pale blue light filtering from multiple screens. In the center of the room a glass cylinder held the corpse of the alien in question. It was an intimidating creature, even torn open and floating in viscous fluid. Easily ten feet in height, this one was a bit on the small side still. The closest earthly animal she could compare it to was a gorilla or maybe a bear, though the double set of arms made that comparison a weak one. Its most jarring feature was probably its face. Though most of its body was covered in short, velvety black hair, the exoskeleton lay exposed in places. As a result, its head looked not unlike like a fanged human skull.<br /><br />Menrva had only seen simulations of the creature alive but she knew them better than most, having spent her career as a geneticist studying them.<br /><br />It was by this display that Leslie paused, picking her cuticles as she scanned the contents through narrowed eyes.&nbsp; “If you can’t help me with the sample, just tell me. There are other people who can do your job, you know.”<br /><br />Menrva rolled her eyes, hoping that her attitude was visible. “I’ll add it to my list.” <br /><br />“I need it before the end of the day tomorrow. We have some potential breakthroughs on my formula and I can’t stall my entire operation just for you.”<br /><br />“I’ll add it to my list,” she repeated, placing the vial in a protective case. <br /><br />Leslie sighed and smoothed her lab coat over her hips. “Fine.” She stalked to the door, pausing just before she exited. “You should come by and see your father at least. You know, he misses you.”<br /><br />Menrva turned her back on her mother, determined not to let any hint of regret past her guard. It wasn’t like Leslie really cared about Dad, she was just looking for a way past her defenses. She wasn’t going to find it. After a moment of silence Leslie took the hint and closed the door, leaving Menrva in the silence of the lab.<br /><br />If only she could get away from them altogether. Where was she going to go? Bunker was large but there wasn’t enough room to really escape her life.<br /><br />The Wreckers had proven to be more of a threat than anyone could have predicted, forcing humanity to retreat to the shelter of Bunker. No one could have anticipated the damage that the alien invaders caused in just a few years. From all accounts they were not intelligent, behaving more like animalistic hunters than the intelligent green men that people used to associate with the word “alien”. They had first arrived in eggs, embedded in meteors and from there bred like cockroaches. At first, they were just a frightening nuisance but soon enough they had overwhelmed major populations. Panic set in as people realized that humanity's place as the alpha predator had been usurped. A UN alliance had built Bunker under the earth's crust before the invasion as a possible answer to overpopulation. The man-made ant-hill had become an escape for what was left of humanity as things on the surface got worse and nuclear plants began to fail, leaking over the surface of the Earth. By that time, there was nothing on the surface to return to, so nuclear warheads were released in a last ditch effort to eliminate the threat. That hadn’t done much good; the stupid beasts were too stubborn to let a little radiation bother them. How? The fact that they didn’t know yet was why Menrva had such a good job.<br /><br />The surface was a wasteland now. The atmosphere had been cooked away and left the Earth exposed and empty. The only things living up there now were the slowly starving alien invaders.<br /><br />Menrva saved her work with the flick of her fingers across the touchscreen. Each progressive day felt more and more unproductive. The work was good, providing a distraction as well as a position of value, keeping her firmly in the safety of the upper class. It was a far better option than endless days of physical toil and cramped living spaces in the Tiers. Still, it was beyond tedious.<br /><br />She was often the last person in the lab. Nobody wanted to be the one to switch the lights out and turn their back on the suspended alien body afterwards. It may have been dead for at least a century, but it didn't make it any less terrifying to be alone with in a dark room.<br /><br />Shuddering, she half-sprinted to the door like a child running back to bed after a midnight bathroom trip. It seemed justified. After all, this wasn't an invisible monster under the bed, it was one that had devoured over three quarters of humankind and wanted more.<br /><br />There was no need to lock the door behind her. On the back of her neck, at the base of her skull, sat a tiny black chip that corresponded to a scanner above the door. It was hard to say if it was a benefit or another form of oppression. On the one hand, it kept track of all her movements, storing them away in its limited memory just in case the City needed to see it. On the other, it made life much easier by automating almost everything.<br /><br />Menrva glanced up at the screens that plastered the ceilings in the wealthy city center. A sunset played across every pixel overhead, a typical sight. The City, slang for the government, did their best to keep the normalcy of morning and night, though it seemed pointless to try to replicate something that no one alive had actually seen.Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-57435224056954549192017-06-16T18:00:00.000-04:002017-06-16T18:00:01.302-04:00Round 1 Showcase - Jenny Lynn LambertTitle: THE MEMORY VISIT<br />Category/genre: YA Dystopian<br />Author: Jenny Lynn Lambert<br />Chosen by editor Carly Hayward<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br />Rain’s flashbacks of her baby brother’s drowning are getting worse and nothing helps—not therapy, not hypnosis. Not even sleep because all she dreams of are Dal’s wide eyes sinking away from her in the backyard pool. There’s only one thing she hasn’t tried yet: a Memory Visit. <br /><br />Desperate for answers, Rain ignores her doctor’s warning and relives that horrible day via a laser probe straight to her brain’s hippocampus. What she discovers is even worse than she thought; her brother, Dal, was murdered, and she is a mark, one of the remarkable people who can alter the past through her memories. <br /><br />Using her newfound ability, Rain attempts to save her brother only to become a target of the assassins who killed him. Now, she must decide whether rescuing a brother she barely knows in the past is worth risking her life and the lives of people she loves in the present.<br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br />CHAPTER 1<br /><br />Fourteen years ago, my baby brother drowned, and I watched him die.<br /><br />Fourteen years seems like a long time, doesn’t it? Time enough to feel sad. To feel angry. To feel guilty. Time enough for a bunch of shrinks to tell me that I can’t blame myself. Maybe even time for me to believe them.<br /><br />The thing is, I haven’t had fourteen years to face the fact that I was there when Dal died. I’ve hardly had four months. Four torturous months of nightmares and flashbacks.<br /><br />Before the flashbacks, I had no memory of it at all, which makes sense since I was barely three years old when it happened. What doesn’t make sense is why I now see Dal drowning over and over again in my mind so vividly, so clearly, where before, he didn’t even exist.<br /><br />The only way I can explain it is this: when Dal drowned, my little brain built a dam to hold back the tragic scene, to keep it from seeping into my consciousness. But the dam wasn’t built to last, and now I’m the one drowning over and over again in a flood of memory.<br /><br />The dam started to leak on April 3, when I had my first flashback--a streak of refracted light dancing across Dal’s forehead, a thin stream of bubbles escaping from his tiny nostrils. For a brief moment, he floated peacefully underwater, just out of reach of my hands. Then he started to drift, his wide blue eyes sinking farther away until they lost all color and shape in the cloudy water.<br /><br />The flashback always comes at the worst times, like when I’m at the vendor market trying to trade a few carrots for a gram of black pepper. My tight throat and watering eyes prompt the vendor to ask me if I’m all right. I never know what to say. Of course, I’m all right. I’m not the one who drowned. I am the one, though, who was right there when it happened. The one left wondering if there was something I could have done.<br /><br />Did I reach for him? Did I scream for help? I’ve tried everything to remember more including meditation, psycho-therapy, and even hypnosis. Little by little, details are coming back to me, some details more disturbing than others. <br /><br />Take the latest, for example--a shadow on the water, a woman’s silhouette. I never see the actual woman, but her size and shape and the length of her hair make me think of my mother. Dal’s mother.<br /><br />But it couldn’t be. Our mother couldn’t possibly have stood there watching while her only son drowned. The shadow must be a trick of my mind, conjured by my guilty conscience to share in the blame for my brother’s death. Only a monster would stand by watching a helpless baby sink to the bottom of a pool.<br /><br />A monster like me.<br /><br />I know, I know, I was only three. What could I have done? Besides, there must have been someone there, an adult, watching me and Dal. Perhaps there was a group of people, too involved in conversation to see the danger coming. There had to be someone. I mean, who would leave a baby in a pool with a preschooler?<br /><br />Still, my imagination won’t let it go. I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something hiding in this memory. Something down deep in the waters of the flood, lying on the dark floor of my consciousness alongside Dal’s lifeless body. For fourteen years, my brain has kept this something from reaching the surface. And now that I’m aware of its existence, I dive, and I dive, but never deep enough. Each time, I return to the surface, empty handed.<br /><br />Just like today. I take yet another dive in Yamuna’s tiny office. On a soft purple sofa, she has hypnotized me into a dream-sea of partial memories, hoping to recover the answers.<br /><br />But as I wake, I see no answers in Yamuna’s uneasy stare. Her strained smile tells me I’ve failed. Again.<br /><br />“Nothing new, huh?” I say and cringe at my sarcastic tone. This isn’t her fault.<br /><br />“No, I’m sorry, Rain,” She says, her weak smile withering into a frown. <br /><br />“Did I talk about the shadow this time?”<br /><br />She pushes a strand of wooly black hair off her ashy cheek and shakes her head. She knows what I want to hear. She knows I want there to be someone else in the memory, someone else to blame, even if that person is my own mother. I’ve never had to admit this to her. She simply understands and forgives me for it.<br /><br />“Like always, I’ve recorded the session for Dr. Thames,” She says. “He’s waiting for you down the hall.”<br /><br />When she rises to retrieve the memory chip from her holographic tablet, her flowery peasant blouse hangs loosely on her sagging shoulders. Her long legs shuffle like an old woman’s under her crinkled skirt. If she’d been born up north, like in Oasis where I lived when Dal died, Yamuna would be running half-marathons or at least playing tennis on the weekends with her friends. But not here, where she wastes away with the rest of NorCoast, like another dying scrub oak on the foothills. <br /><br />I know better than to offer her the small bottle of water I keep in my bag. There’s nothing more insulting than water charity. I should have stuffed the bottle behind a tattered pillow when her back was turned. It’s too late now, though; she’s right in front of me, proffering the chip like a consolation prize. <br /><br />I take the chip, wishing that I could forget about Dr. Thames with his paneled office and constant sniffing. Instead, I long to sit here in Yamuna’s warm muraled room with the faded purple couch cushions that smell of patchouli.<br /><br />As I rise to leave, she takes my hands and pulls me in for an unprecedented hug. Hesitantly, I relax into her embrace, letting her warm arms swaddle me like an infant. When she steps back, there’s a hint of pity in her eyes, which makes me angry, but not at her.<br /><br />“Thanks,” I say. “I know you’ve done all you could. I wish I could remember more.” I cough to cover up the catch in my voice.<br /><br />“Rain, it’s not your fault. You were very little. Plus, Oasis is a totally different world. Here, there aren’t any visual clues that might help you remember. Actually, I’m pretty amazed at what we’ve been able to uncover from such an old memory.”<br /><br />“Yeah,” I say softly.<br /><br />“I think, though, that we’ve reached the limit of what hypnosis can do for you,” she says, and I’m not surprised. The only new detail in the past few sessions has been the woman’s shadow on the water, and even that has been inconsistent. <br /><br />“I wish you had learned more,” she says and pauses, studying my face with her bold black eyes. “I’ve been hesitant to propose this up until now…” She stops, and I wonder if she’s really going to suggest what I think she’s going to suggest. “Have you ever considered…”<br /><br />&nbsp;“…a Memory Visit?”<br /><br />Yamuna nods. “You’ve heard stories about them, right?”<br /><br />“Yeah, I’ve heard some pretty scary stuff.”<br /><br />“Well, there are other stories, too,” she says. “Ones that haven’t been all hyped up by the media. I’ve recommended Memory Visits to a few of my clients, and none of them became addicts. None of them suffered mental health problems. No one’s brain exploded.” She smiles. “I just make sure that my clients are the right kind of people with the right kind of need, people like you who aren’t doing it to escape reality.”<br /><br />Yamuna’s got me all wrong. I do like to escape reality, especially in self-destructive ways. I drop my gaze to the ground in case she can discover the truth behind my pale eyes.<br /><br />“The decision is yours to make,” she says. “I’m only suggesting it because you need to understand this memory before you can heal.”<br /><br />This time she’s right. I see Dal’s swollen face in my dreams, on the commuter train, during my classes. Ever since the first flashback, I started sneaking over to Bainbridge’s East Side to buy liquor--rare, expensive poison for a water-rationed people. As Shakespeare might say, the booze is ever the prologue to my sleep. I wake up weak and sick, but it’s the only way I can sleep without dreams about Dal. If I’m not careful, I’ll be headed for kidney dialysis in a matter of months instead of decades.<br /><br />Yamuna’s frown mirrors my own. “Look, Rain, I’m sorry if my suggestion upsets you.”<br /><br />“No, no, I’m not upset. Just…considering my options. I’ll talk about it with Dr. Thames.”<br />She grins. “I doubt he’d be as open-minded as I am. He’s a respected psychiatrist with a reputation to uphold. I, on the other hand, am a simple hypnotist.” She winks, her assuredness convincing me in spite of my doubts.Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105340577746287121.post-5674176700524728772017-06-16T06:00:00.000-04:002017-06-16T06:00:19.619-04:00Round 1 Showcase - Nicole L. OchoaTitle: UNDER WESTERN SKIES<br />Category/genre: NA Inspirational Romance<br />Author: Nicole L. Ochoa<br />Chosen by editor Elizabeth Buege<br /><br /><b>Book Blurb</b><br /><br />The last time Sarah saw Jeremy, he'd been saying goodbye before embarking on a long-anticipated snowmobiling trek. Five days later, when he went missing, Sarah's world collapsed. <br /><br />A year after Jeremy's death, Sarah can't pull herself from the depression she's spiraled into. When her concerned family ambushes her with an emotional intervention, suggesting she spend a few months visiting her cousin in California, Sarah hesitantly packs her bags and enrolls in online classes before boarding the plane. <br /><br />Hunter Teuscher, a brooding surfer who's sworn off romantic entanglements due to a failed engagement, is thrown for a loop when Sarah splashes her way into his life. As he keeps bumping into her around San Luis Obispo, he can't stop his heart from falling. After a whirlwind courtship, he finds himself on bended knee. <br /><br />Even though Sarah struggles with the firsthand knowledge that romantic relationships can't extend beyond the grave, she takes a leap of faith and accepts Hunter's proposal. But, on the day of their wedding, God deals Sarah another crushing blow, challenging her faith in a way she never imagined possible. <br /><br />Under Western Skies is a sweet, slightly inspirational romance filled with laughter, tears, and all the feels of falling in love.<br /><br /><b>Opening Pages</b><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Prologue: Time to Move On</div><br />The neatly wrapped gift in my lap felt highly suspicious. My mom had pulled it from behind the couch after we’d finished unwrapping the other Christmas presents; there had been tears in her eyes when she’d handed it to me. I glanced at my older brother, Mike, he just shook his head. His wife Malinda, who sat at his feet, wouldn’t meet my eye. The medium sized box got heavier with each ticking second.<br /><br />I looked to my younger sister who sat curled up in Dad’s reading chair. Her phone was tucked into the branches of the tree next to her and she’d been discretely checking notifications all evening. I expected to get an uninterested eye-roll when she met my eye; instead, I got a hesitant smile. Whatever was inside the box wasn’t good.<br /><br />On the couch, my rough-hewn father placed his arm around my mother who now had tears spilling down her cheeks. She brushed them away as she waited for me to unwrap her gift. I tugged at the ribbon without looking down and felt it knot. When I gave it a second tug and it didn’t budge, Dad sat up and handed me his pocket knife. With one last glance around the room, I pulled off the paper and lifted the lid.<br /><br />“A beach towel?” I asked, running my finger over the bright fabric. Nobody said a word. Thinking something might be hidden inside, I carefully removed the towel from the box but nothing tumbled out.<br /><br />“Thank you?” I said, looking around the room, still unsure why nobody was smiling.<br /><br />My mom swiped at a tear. “We thought you could use it in California.”<br /><br />“California?”<br /><br />Dad leaned forward. “Sarah,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees, “we need to talk.”<br /><br />Katy sat up and gave me the eye-roll I’d been expecting. “What Mom and Dad are trying to say,” she said in her matter-of-fact tone. “is it’s time to move on.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Chapter 1: You Should Be Here</div><br />I’d been waiting for this moment since fifth grade when I’d done my state report on California. Despite all that had happened over the course of the past year, I found it hard not to feel some excitement about seeing the ocean for the first time. I tapped my foot impatiently on the floormat of Brian’s car as we wound our way down the coastal highway.&nbsp;The beach towel my parents had given me sat tucked into the top of my carry-on bag which now rested in the backseat. It had been only eight days since I’d sat through what my sister had coined my <i>emotional intervention</i>.<br /><br />“It’ll be a minute,” Brian said, obviously annoyed by my tapping.<br /><br />He got the lucky job of being my chaperone while I was on what my parent’s had called my <i>emotional hiatus</i>. Since Brian was going to college in San Luis Obispo, he received his babysitting assignment by default. I could’ve stopped the tapping, seeing how it irritated my favorite cousin, but he should’ve known better than to conspire with my parents.<br /><br />I tapped my boot a little louder against the plastic lining, pleased with the way Brian’s knuckles turned white when his grip tightened around the steering wheel. I was tempted to start whistling, but as we crested the hill and it came into view, my entire body froze.<br /><br />“What do you think?” Brian asked.<br /><br />I stared out my window, unable to breathe and unable to answer. The sight of the waves beating against the cliffs and the gull sailing low across the endless blue landscape held me mesmerized. My parents had been right in suggesting I come here; I could already feel the burden I’d been carrying lighten.<br /><br />“Are we going to a beach or just an overlook?” I asked, stuttering a response to Brian’s question.<br />Brian laughed as he flipped on the blinker and took the exit. “Do you plan on going for a swim?”<br /><br />I turned to face him. “You make it sound like the water’s cold?”<br /><br />“Sarah,” Brian said, laughing, “this isn’t San Diego…the water’s freezing. Unless you have a wetsuit, I’d recommend staying dry this evening.”<br /><br />“Oh,” I said, turning back to the window, feeling a little disappointed. I’d assumed all California beaches were warm. Had that misnomer made it into my report?<br /><br />Brian wound his way through the town toward a wooden pier stretching into the ocean. I found it hard to fathom it was January as we passed people dressed in shorts and flip flops; six hours earlier I’d been breaking ice in the water troughs on my family’s Wyoming ranch. I felt a bit overdressed in my Wranglers and cowboy boots.<br /><br />We parked in a bustling lot by the pier, pulling into a spot beside a blue pickup that had a surfboard laying on its dropped tailgate. Next to the surfboard, a sandy-haired guy zipped up his wetsuit; he obviously knew about the cold water. <br /><br />When I stepped from the car the surfer glanced in my direction and our eyes met. I nodded a hello, figuring he’d do the same; instead, he furrowed his brow and narrowed his green eyes. Hoping his menacing stare hadn’t been intended for me, I glanced over my shoulder.&nbsp; Nobody was there, except Brian who was digging a quilt out from under my bag.<br /><br />When I turned back to the surfer he had started scraping a bar of wax across his board. Unnerved by his piercing look, I checked my reflection in the car window. Nothing looked out of place but I pulled my hair back anyway, keeping an eye on him in the glass. His head came up as I secured the rubber band around my messy bun; he shot me the same unfriendly look. Then he shook his head as if unsure about what he was seeing.<br /><br />“Sarah,” Brian said, interrupting my thoughts as I watched the surfer grab his board and walk away. “I’m going to pick up some dinner. Do you want to come with me or would you rather head down to the beach to find us a spot to eat?”<br /><br />I glanced over my shoulder at the chowder restaurant he’d pointed out on our drive in; the long line hadn’t gotten any shorter. I reached for the quilt. “I’ll take beach duty.”<br /><br />Brian smiled.&nbsp; “I won’t be long.”<br /><br />“You’d better not be,” I said as he started walking away. “I’m starving.”<br /><br />“It’s nice to have you visiting,” he said, smiling as he waved me off.<br /><br />As I walked down the wooden staircase toward the beach I scanned the area for the surfer but couldn’t find him. I turned my focus to the waves lapping against the sandy shore in an attempt to shake him from my thoughts. I wasn’t going to let some brooding surfer ruin my first time visiting the ocean.<br /><br />It was surreal to be standing on the edge of the continent. As the salty breeze kissed my face, I did my best to convince myself I wasn’t in a dream. Nothing about my life felt real over the last ten months. I’d been living in a daze after Jeremy had died, walking through life on autopilot. Hopefully, this change of scenery would force me to pay attention to my life again. My parents had been right about Wyoming holding too many painful memories. With its constant reminders of Jeremy, I couldn’t escape the sting of losing him, making it impossible to deal with my grief. This place, this edge of the earth, where Jeremy had never been, would be the place I found healing, I could feel it.<br /><br />Locating a dry spot of sand north of the pier, I spread out the blanket and tugged off my boots. Scattered along the waterline were a bunch of white shells basking in the fading light of day. A shell would be the perfect memento to mark this new beginning.<br /><br />Balling my socks, I tucked them into my boots and rolled up my jeans. When I stepped into the soft sand I was surprised it still retained some of the warmth of the day. I let my toes brush against the warm sand, slowly dragging them across the unfamiliar surface as I walked toward the shells. A wave pushed forward and deposited a few more shells at my feet. I stooped and plucked one from the foam, impressed to discover it was a whole, complete sand dollar. I’d supposed shells like this could only be bought in souvenir shops, not tossed onto the beach like the one I held in my hand. It was impressive that such a delicate shell had survived such a hazardous journey.<br /><br />Turning the shell over, I examined the intricate design on its surface. Deciding to keep it, I tucked it into the pocket of my sweatshirt and glanced down the beach at the other shells. As I started walking toward the cliffs, I realized a majority of the shells strewn across the wet sand were also sand dollars. I was tempted to collect a few more but wanted to get my feet wet first.Sione Aeschlimanhttps://plus.google.com/111435715304573974969noreply@blogger.com0